


The Heart of Me

by Luxie



Series: I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Potter, Aurors, Consent Issues, Dementors (Harry Potter) - Freeform, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Horcruxes, Hurt/Comfort, I have ruthlessly murdered Narcissa and Lucius, Investigation, M/M, Mentions of Prior Mental Breakdowns, Ministry of Magic, Non-sexual Consent Issues, Sharing of Secrets, Slow Build, Souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 42
Words: 69,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxie/pseuds/Luxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is the first to admit he's a bit of a mess.<br/>He hides behind his job as an Auror in the special May 2nd unit, because the rush of the chase and the chance of saving lives is the only things that can keep the dark memories at bay.<br/>But when Draco Malfoy gets himself locked inside a Horcrux, there is only one thing Harry can do to save him.</p><p>He has to open up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to **The Heart of Me.**
> 
> This is a fully completed Fanfiction Project that will be posted one day at a time, starting at September 14th, running until Halloween.  
> Until then you can enjoy a few sporadic teasers from this Project over at my [Tumblr](http://flyingassassin.tumblr.com/tagged/The-Heart-of-Me), where you can also find the original art.
> 
>  **Major Character Death** : I have ruthlessly murdered Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. That's it, you can go on reading the story now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Though my soul may set in darkness,  
it will rise in perfect light.  
I have loved the stars too fondly  
to be fearful of the night.


	2. September 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story takes place in '99, so a year after the Battle of Hogwarts. If you haven't read the prequel September 1st, you should go take care of that now.
> 
> This story is not a WIP. It's finished and there will be posted one chapter each day apart from Sundays, because even Harry Potter needs a bit of privacy.

Harry starts his Monday morning in Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, a sparsely lit room full of dusty curiosities and a fascinating array of odd artefacts. The effect of it means most people who come here are slightly awestruck and mystified, but Harry has been her often enough since joining the M2 Auror squad that he's getting immune to it.

“Mr. Potter.” Kingsley says, the calm baritone of his voice inviting Harry in to his office. “What can I do for you today?”

“Minister.” Harry says and falls into the Auror stance with his spread feet firmly planted and hands clasped behind his back. Kingsley looks like he's fighting back a smile.

Harry knows it's silly, calling Kingsley `Sir´ and acting like they hadn’t met for tea just yesterday in the Burrow, but it's been a year since the war ended and the Wizarding World has finally returned to something close to peaceful; Without the immediate threat of Dark Wizards the other Aurors are beginning to question whether or not Harry and the other M2s still have a place within their ranks. Harry isn't going to give them more fuel for their `special treatment´ slant.

“Let me guess-” Kingsley starts.

“Sir. It's about Draco Malfoy.”

“-It's about Malfoy.” Kingsley finishes at the same time, and then, “Sit, Mr. Potter.”

“Sir?”

“On the chair, if you'd please.”

Harry feels oddly like a school boy again as he pulls out the chair facing Kingsley's desk and sits on the edge of the seat.

“You know, Dumbledore once told me about your obsession with Draco Malfoy.” Kingsley says. Harry can feel the instant blush warming his face, but Kingsley continues before Harry can put much thought into the use of the word `obsession´.

“He wanted to know if I, as a seasoned Auror, though your fixation was unhealthy.”

“And what did you tell him, Sir?”

“That it was very unhealthy, but very common. Not a trait I tend to celebrate in my Aurors, though.”

“But I was right.”

“Being right doesn't make it right.” Kingsley says. Harry's eyes falls down to his hands, clenched in his lap, and he hears Kingsley sigh. “I assume you're here because your colleagues at Level Four closed Draco Malfoy's case as an Accident.”

“Sir,” Harry says fighting to stay calm. “Creature Control are wrong and I can prove it. If you would just let me have Draco's case for one week.”

“Like I told you two weeks ago when you asked to get assigned to Narcissa Malfoy's murder case: the M2 doesn't run investigations.” Kingsley Shaklebolt says. “If the Prophet caught wind of it I would have another onslaught on my hands and I've just stopped the bleeding.”

“It wont be the M2.” Harry assures him. “Just me. Draco was my responsibility.”

Kingsley fingertips brushes over the surface of the wooden table, his attention weighing on Harry for a long moment.

“I can't give you what you're asking.” he says in the end. “I'm sorry Harry, but this is a delicate situation for the Ministry – both Draco's attack and Narcissa's murder – and without any concrete evidence-”

“Sir, Draco lived in the Manor, Dementors floating around the grounds. Everyone else came and went, but the Malfoy's were _living_ there, more or less hostages in that house. Don't you think it would make sense if Draco had taught himself how to cast a Patronus?”

“You know,” Kingsley says and taps a knuckle against the armrest of his Victorian upholstered chair. “I had that same thought when I first heard what had happened to him and Lucius.”

“Oh.” Harry deflates a bit. “So what do you think, Sir?”

“I guess it all comes down to one question.” Kingsley says, dark eyes studying Harry. “One that you have far better chances of answering than me.”

“Sir?”

“Did young Mr. Malfoy, at the time of his and his father's attack, have any happy memories strong enough to help him fight off a whole darkness of Dementors?”

Harry opens his mouth, but he doesn't find any easy answers, so he shuts it again and looks back at his hands. He hears Kingsley pulling a drawer open and then a package wrapped in brown paper is pushed into his field of vision.

“This came into my possession two weeks ago, right after the attack. I want you to have it.” Kingsley says and Harry starts unwrapping the paper. “It's been scanned for dark curses, of cause. It's seething with dark magic, but it's dormant.”

Letting the paper drop to the floor Harry looks down at the book in his hands, leather bound with blank pages.

“You know what this is.” Harry says, laying the book back on Kingsley's desk with more calm than should be expected from someone who has just been handed a Horcrux. Maybe he's gotten used to handling them by now and isn't that just frightening?

“Officially, I don't. As a member of the Order of the Phoenix, I do.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“What do you think?” Kingsley asks, looking calmly at Harry. He's getting every bit as vague as Dumbledore.

“If you wanted it destroyed I'm sure you could have handled that yourself, Minister.” Harry says without trying to hide his frown.

“That book contains what ever is left of Draco Malfoy's soul.” Kingsley says, raising both eyebrows when Harry's eyes snap up from the book to meet his. “Why would anyone want to destroy that?” 

> It's been one year, five months and twelve days since the Battle of Hogwarts.
> 
> Which is a long time, I guess. It feels like a long time. Feels like a lifetime, really, considering everything that's happened. Joining the M2, your trial, going back to Hogwarts. Sharing a dorm with your for a whole year. That one really drained me.

> What was the point in all of that if you were just going to get yourself killed in the end?

 

Harry pauses, letting the tip of the quill hover, but the words stay on the page.

With a sigh he gets to his feet, heavy chair scraping against the floor, and goes to make himself a fresh mug of tea. Since the war the cups from which Harry drinks his tea has grown in size. It's a trend he's seen reflected in Ron, whenever Harry stops by the small flat he shares with George above the Weasley's shop. He doesn't think they can be blamed for needing a gallon tea a day to calm their nerves these days.

Somehow Harry had managed to convince himself that defeating Voldemort would mean the Wizarding world would right itself. He hadn't expected there to be quite so much fall-out, politically and emotionally.

It was like the lose Death Eaters and leftover Supporters had been desperate to deal the population one last blow and what should have been a time of celebration and relief turned out to be one the darkest periods of the war. There had been so many lives lost at the Battle and the fact that good people kept dying in the months to follow, made it feel like they hadn't won at all.

Kingsley had come to see Harry four days after the Battle. He'd given Harry the offer to lead a new strike team, a small group of people who would help the heavily crippled Auror corps round up threats and protect the population. Harry had accepted without giving it much thought; It was just what had to be done. Going by the look on Ron's face, when he came to see Harry later that day, it had been the same for him. They had named it _May 2nd_ after the date of the Battle for Hogwarts.

The next few weeks had been a hectic blur of chasing down every lead, joining every strike, never giving himself a moments pause and never, ever dealing with the fall out.

When Harry returns to his desk he puts down the mug, hand hovering over the open page of the book. It's completely blank, his words from before now absorbed by the book, and for a good ten seconds he considers ripping the page out. Instead, however, his hand veers right and he picks up his mug again, letting the hot liquid balm his nerves.

All afternoon he's felt the book burn through the fabric of his trousers, a insistent weight in his pocket. He had let the book lie in his bag during his morning training and afterwards, when he and Neville had been out to do a check up on a Black Marked in Leeds, but once they had settled down to write up their report, he had taken the book out of his bag to get to his notes and he hadn't been able to put it back.

He reminds himself that experts in dark magic have already handled the book and deemed it harmless, though Harry doubts any of them has ever seen anything like it. There's nothing harmless about a book like this.

A sudden rush of anger has Harry hurtling himself into the chair and grabbing the quill again.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking, Draco?” Harry scribbles across the page, not even caring that it's not really Draco in there. That it's nothing but an imprint kept conscious by a spell. “I really hope this was Lucius' idea!”

He waits for a while, blood racing, but just like before the words stay on the page. The magic in the book must be slow at first. Ginny would know how this is supposed to work, but Harry would never dream of asking her. She would hate him if she knew he had written in it and the rest of his friends would have fits.

Instead he puts the quill to the page again and starts writing down a memory, every feeling he remembers from that day two weeks ago, every errand thought and emotion. He knows it needs to be personal for this to work, but that part is easy; It was always personal between him and Draco Malfoy.  

>    
> 
>   _September 2nd 1999._
> 
> “It's a right shame.” Is the first words Harry hears on the matter and his interest is peaked at once, because the old wizard is wearing the lime green robes of the St Mungo's Healers. “Horrible fate, especially for the young one.”
> 
> ”Did they take him to Peppin Dowel's ward?” The other wizard asks and as they move past him Harry gets off the bench to follow them, throwing the last of his breakfast in a bin.
> 
> ”Yes. Well, I guess there wasn't much point in trying to question him, was there?” The Healer says, shaking his head. ”Besides, it's pretty obvious what happened.”
> 
> ”The Minister isn't as sure.”
> 
> ”Well, I suppose there's always an off chance that someone had a finger in it. Especially after what happened yesterday.”
> 
> Harry feels a wave of dread wash over him. Yesterday Narcissa Malfoy had been found dead and it had been a media circus ever since, headlines echoing one word: _Justice_.
> 
> ”But it did really look like a freak accident.” The Healer continues, his voice somehow muffled by the blood pounding in Harry's ears. ”I was one of the first arrivers. Lucius dead on the floor, the young man, Draco, just sitting there, a shell. Well, it's about high time the Aurors got the rogue Dementors under control again. I mean, obviously the Supporters were first priority, but Creature Control can't contain all the Dementors on their own. They have enough to do, chasing down all the newly bitten werewolves.”
> 
> Harry sways, feeling the nausea rise. For the first time since the Trials he feels like he is coming apart.

Harry stops writing and looks at the last line.

He tries to imagine what Draco must have felt like when he got the news about his mother's murder, whether a Ministry employee even bothered showing up at his flat to give him the news. Maybe Draco would have been torn between mourning his mother and fearing for his own life.

“Why didn't you come to me?” He mutters. He considers writing it in the book, but for some reason he can't bring himself to do it. He's too insecure, too unsure of the shaky friendship he and Draco had build during the past year at Hogwarts.

Just before she had been killed Narcissa told Harry that Draco considered them friends. Harry hadn't told her that he felt the same way, but he should have, in hindsight. Knowing now that she had a death clock ticking, he should have assured her that her son had someone willing to protect him.

Not that it would have helped. Apparently, even running for his life, Draco hadn't believed it either.


	3. September 15

Tuesday after work Harry ventures out into the garden behind Grimmauld Place and throws a couple of thawed rats to Buckbeak. He's nowhere to be seen, though, but Harry can hear rummaging in the far end of the overgrown garden and assumes the Hippogriff is busy.

Harry has brought tea and the case file on Narcissa Malfoy's murder, and he settles down on the cracked tiles of what was once a patio. It doesn't take long before he feels that he and the rats are being watched, but he pretends not to notice, instead picking up a quill as he begins working through the pages.

Getting a copy of Narcissa's file had been relatively easy. The case had been shelved a few days ago, but Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet both had access to it as part of the regular Auror Corps and as old members of the M2 team they still tend to view Harry as their boss. Draco's case file is a completely different story, though, since it had already been closed and archived by Creature Control, but Harry is convinced beyond a doubt that the two cases are linked and if he can crack Narcissa's case open he is sure he can get permission to reopen Draco's as well.

 After a while Harry puts the case file down to rub his eyes and when he fixes his glasses back on his nose his eyes lock on the book lying next to his foot. He's not sure why he brought it with him. He knows, of course, that there's a good chance the book has the answers Harry needs to solve Draco's attack and Narcissa's murder, but it's a ridiculous risk. Yes, Draco was his responsibility, but it's not worth risking his soul over. It's not. He knows all the reasons why he shouldn't write in the book and only one reason why he should.

For a moment Harry hesitates, but then he picks it up, fingers inattentively twirling the self-inking quill as he looks through the blank pages. He hasn't opened it since last night. His decision to write in it then had been rash and reckless, and since then he's had time to think. He's thought about Tom Riddle's Diary and how it worked its magic over Ginny. He's thought about Horcruxes and the slight tingle of ancient magic he feels when he holds the book.

Mostly he's thought about Draco Malfoy, though. He's thought about the boy he knew at school, who was an arrogant and oppressive bully. He's thought about the young man, who became a Death Eater to make his father proud. Harry isn't surprised to find that they both seem to have been softened, somehow, by the memories he's made of Draco over the past year since the trials ended.

Maybe if he writes this whole thing from that point, he can convince himself that what he is doing isn't completely crazy.

> _June 4th 1998_
> 
> The night before the Malfoy trials Harry dreams of Draco Malfoy.
> 
> He dreams of a pale young man with a nasty sneer who breaks Harry's nose. He dreams about a scared young man who cries in an empty bathroom because he thinks his family is going to be killed due to his failure. Somehow the two young men are different people in Harry's dream and Harry is standing between them. He tries to yell, tries to get their attention, to get them to see each other, but they can't hear him.
> 
> He tries to yell louder, but his voice lashes out like invisible knives and makes both their chests rip open and blood gushes out. Harry wakes with a choked yell and a face wet from sweat and tears.
> 
> He never thought he'd cry for Draco Malfoy, but here he is.
> 
> The heavy curtains in his room keep out the greying light of the dawn and Harry rolls out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom without turning on the light. Instead of going back to bed he goes downstairs in the cold kitchen and lights the fireplace with a spark from his wand. He makes himself a cup of tea, cooling it with his wand and then drinking it down before he makes himself another cup. He decides then to pick up some bigger cups next time he's out shopping.
> 
> Half an hour later the flames in the fireplace flashes green and a tired looking Ron steps out of the fire. Harry knows he's coming directly from a raid in Bradford. Harry had wanted to come, but Kingsley had told him to save his strengths for the opening of the trials, so instead Ron had brought Alicia Spinnet and Michael Corner. Harry can only assume it had gone as planned.
> 
> “Thought I'd find you up.” Ron says and slumps into the chair next to Harry's.
> 
> “You thought I'd be up at -” Harry checks his watch. “Five twentyone in the morning?”
> 
> “Today? Yeah.” Ron summons a cup from the shelf and Harry spells the water to boil again. For a while they sit in silence, Ron looking at his tea steeping and Harry looking at the faint letters on the back of his hand.
> 
> “When are you scheduled?” Ron asks when Harry gets up to make them both breakfast.
> 
> “Second.” Harry says, cracking eggs into a bowl and adding cream and spices. “Right after Kingsley.”
> 
> “Blimy.” Ron says and lets out a low whistle, takes the basket with bread that Harry hands him. “It makes sense, though.”
> 
> Harry supposes it does. With the visions he got from Voldemort he's one of the people who has the most unique memories to share.
> 
> By the time the scrambled eggs are finished and the toast is golden brown, the flames shines green again and Hermione steps into the kitchen with a slight stumble. Her hair is wet and her short jacket drenched.
> 
> “Chaos at the Port Key central?” Ron guesses and Hermione gives a tired nod. “They never make room enough for international arrivals.”
> 
> “Any luck?” Harry asks and pours tea for all three of them.
> 
> “Not yet, but I'm optimistic.” Hermione says and leans down to kiss Ron's cheek as she passes him. “I managed to get a list of newly started Dentist offices in Townsville, but it turned out to be a bit of a wild goose chase.”
> 
> “I thought you were trying Cains?” Ron says as Hermione pulls Harry in for a tight hug.
> 
> “No luck.” She says. “How are you feeling, Harry?”
> 
> “Famished.” Harry says and sits down. The kitchen feels a lot warmer.

Harry ends the memory with three dots as a sort of `to be continued´.

He feels a little tired, but he's not sure if he's imagining it. He never talked to Ginny about how she had felt when she wrote in Riddle's Diary, if she had ever noticed how it drained her, but just ignored it, because it felt so good to share her fears and worries.

Harry is not likely to make the same mistake.

Just having to recall these things is draining in itself and it sets a natural limit to how much Harry can give to the book. Though Harry has to admit that writing about the nightmares feels better than he had expected, almost cathartic.

He had never even talked to his friends about them, about how he would wake up sweaty and panting from dark dreams, because when he returned from taking a quick, cold shower, his bed sheets would be freshly changed and the room aired out and it was easy to pretend that the nightmare had never happened.

Buckbeak has finally decided to grace Harry with his company and gulps the rats down, looking for more food with a mournful sound.

“Don't give me that.” Harry says, picking up Narcissa's case file again. “I know you've been eating all the squirrels. You're getting fat.”

Harry does end up giving the Hippogriff another rat, though, promising he'll take them both out for a flight soon.


	4. September 16

Wednesday Harry takes a day off from work. It's the first time he's ever done anything like that, but he feels comfortable leaving the M2s in Neville's hands.

In the two short months since he left Hogwarts, Harry has gotten a reputation for being The Guy With No Life and Harry knows it's probably fair. He does work too much. He wraps himself up in his cases and ignores things like work hours and days off, because without the distraction of his NEWT classes and the other students of Hogwarts, it's Harry's only way of keeping busy.

Slowing down means that he'll have to deal with a shit storm of bad memories and Harry has already tried that a year ago during the Trials. It hadn't been a success.

He is already beginning to feel antsy and tense around lunch and he wants to blame the book, but he knows it's got nothing to do with the magic of the Horcrux. It's himself that is the problem.

After slipping in to a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt Harry goes for a run. He used to hate running, but it might have something to do with the fact that he was always being chased around by Dudley and his minions. Back then it had always felt like Harry was running for his life. He had been so defenceless and if he hadn't been a fast runner he would have gotten beat up a lot more than he was.

Now Harry is anything but defenceless. He knows how to protect himself and how to save others and even though it's a lot more than just a bashing on the line these days, Harry still prefers his current life. Even if it's taken a while to get here.

Harry speeds up, runs until his chest hurts and he's sure he's going to throw up. He used to be in a hell of a lot better shape, but of course he hasn't really been running away from anything for a while now, at least not physically.

When he returns to Grimmauld Place he draws the shower as warm as he can handle and tries to get his muscles to relax under the spray. It doesn't help though. Thinking about the trials, even after all this time, still gets him tense.

Maybe if Harry hadn't been so determined then to hide his failing mental health his friends could have stopped the breakdown in time, but Ron had been juggling the work with the M2s and his own grief and Hermione was busy in Australia, looking for her parents. It had been dark days and everyone had their own shit.

Giving statement had been like opening the stitches on a wound and poking the knife around just to see the blood spilling out.

Luckily Ron and Hermione had been there when it happened. Hermione put off returning to Australia and Ron, even with his own gaping wound where Fred had been, managed to help stop the haemorrhaging. It was a patch up, but wasn't it always?

Turning off the water he dries off and goes into the kitchen to make tea. Once he sits down, warm mug in hand and the Horcrux in front of him, the words comes easier than he was expecting. 

>  
> 
>   _June 5th 1998._
> 
> Harry had known the Malfoy trails were going to be horrible.
> 
> When Harry walks in that morning he can feel the panic rising. He knows the Malfoy Trials are high-profile, first of the Top Ten's - as the Prophet had nick'ed them, as if they were some kind of count down list - but he hadn't expected there to be this many people present.
> 
> The court room is packed, rows upon rows of Witches and Wizards mumbling furiously and demanding that the Malfoy trials should be made to set an example. Too many pure-blood Supporters had bribed, bartered or snaked their way out of punishment last time Voldemort had fallen and the Wizard Community is not inclined to forgive those same people a second time, especially not the ones who has a Mark to prove their allegiance.
> 
> “A public trial is a good thing.” Mr. Weasley says, hands resting on Mrs. Weasley's shoulders “It's to our advantage.”
> 
> “The public needs to see.” Hermione agrees. “The Prophet isn't exactly the effigy of credibility, is it? This way no one will be able to twist your words, Harry.”
> 
> Harry is pretty sure people will find a way if they want to. 
> 
> When he steps out on the floor there's a rush of whispers, but as soon as Harry enters the silvery orb in the middle of the court room, all voices disappear. Then slowly, as if he's sinking into a warm tub, memories are drawn from his mind, one by one, to be displayed on the outside of the orb.
> 
> What Harry shows the people is a young man, so proud of his Mark, slowly falling apart during their sixth year. He shows Malfoy's wand dropping just a fraction of an inch before Bellatrix arrives at the Astronomy Tower. He shows both the Death Eater who is forced to torture and the boy who looks Harry in the eyes and doesn't turn him over.
> 
> Draco's eyes are full of fear, both in the memory that is shown to everyone in the court room, but also as the real Draco lifts his chin for the first time since he was led into the court room, eyes finding Harry's.
> 
> Harry gives his memories on all the Malfoys. He shows the court Narcissa, paralysed with fear as her mad sister demands they bring in the Dark Lord to hand over Harry. He shares a memory, complete darkness and Narcissa's desperate whisper of “Is Draco alive?” and her saving lie that follows.
> 
> Harry doesn't have any redeeming memories to share about Lucius, except as the memories are pulled from him and he is forced to relive it all with a hundred witches and wizards looking on, it becomes clear that Lucius is fading, less and less of a man with every memory that is shared.
> 
> It's the first time Harry is faced with his own memories from the war.
> 
> He doesn't notice the tears until they begin to cool on his neck. He draws a hand under his chin and the back of it comes out wet, but he barely has a chance to figure out which memory made him cry before the next one is extracted and he is forced to relive it.
> 
> When they finally release him hours later he stumbles from the courtroom, shaking with emotions – loss, fear and shame – while photographers take pictures of him and people whisper.
> 
> He can't even muster up enough spite to tell them to bugger off, but luckily Hermione and Mrs. Weasley can, while Ron actually draws his wand at one of them who tries to get a close-up of Harry's pain.
> 
> “You don't have to do this, you know.” Hermione says the next day, wary eyes looking for any signs that Harry might fall apart in front of her again. “You've already given your statement, you don't have to go back.”
> 
> But Harry does. Merlin help him, he does and he's not even sure why.

Harry sits in the kitchen for a long time after putting down his quill. There is no reply from the book, but Harry hadn't expected one so soon. He knows Ginny had poured herself into Tom Riddle's Diary for a while before he became strong enough to reply to her. Harry doesn't want to wait for that, can't wait for that, so he pushes the book aside for now, focusing on Narcissa's case instead.

The file contains an envelope filled with pictures of the place Narcissa had been found, but Harry doesn't open it. He's already looked through it enough times and he doesn't want to spoil his lunch. Instead he picks up the handful of witness statements.

He stops at a statement, taken on the actual day Narcissa had been killed. It had been taken by an Auror named Frank Mekkle and Harry knows Mekkle to be a decent Auror, but not the best investigator. He is too emotional and too driven by results, much like Ron had been back when he was with the M2s.

The interview is with two young Muggle boys, who had been riding their bikes past the barrow where Narcissa's burned remains had been found an hour later. According to the report they hadn't seen anything unusual at that time.

Feeling a slight tingle in his stomach Harry gets to his feet and goes into the back garden. Buckbeak greets him with a chilling shriek and Harry bows to him, just for good measures.

“I'm going to need your help, mate.” Harry says and takes out his wand. Buckbeak studies him with yellow eyes. “We're going to build a pyre.”

Half an hour later Harry ties a dead deer to a stake. Buckbeak is lying a few meters away with a leg that Harry had to sacrifice just to get the Hippogriff to move away.

The Aurors who investigated the remains said the fire had been started with a strong Incendio at the bottom of the pyre and had then gone on to describe how the fire had spread.

 _Strength not enough_. Harry has written as a note, because even with a very powerful Incendio and even with out her wand, Narcissa would have been strong enough to protect herself from the flames as they rose. Which means that, at least, she would have to have been dead when she was burned.

Harry casts the Incendio and waits.

The flames spread quickly and it doesn't take long before the fur of the deer is singed off and the fat bubbles. It smells really good and Harry's stomach growls, but then the flesh starts to char and Harry leaves the garden.

When he returns one hour later Buckbeak has returned to the back of the garden, apparently not interested now that the deer is a black lump of coal. Harry checks the temperature and then his watch before he compares it with the timestamps taken by the first Aurors on site.

He notes that his fire is still hotter than the one the Aurors found on arrival, which means the original fire had to have been more than one hour old when it was found. If the two boys did in fact ride past the barrow one hour earlier they would have had to have seen the burning pyre and maybe even the ones who had lit the fire.

That's got to be enough evidence to grant him permission for a memory restoration on minors.

 

 


	5. September 17

Thursday Harry is eating breakfast in the kitchen when an owl swoops in with a letter. The bird's feathers are a little ruffled and Harry wonders if maybe it had tried to get in through the garden. Buckbeak usually leaves the owls alone, but he has been more rebellious than usual lately. It's probably about time Harry took him for that flight to stretch his wings.

The letter turns out to be Ministry sealed and Harry has had enough of them just after the war to hesitate before he opens it. It doesn't turn out to be another court summon, small mercies. Instead it's addressed to him in the capacity of being Teddy's Legal Guardian.

Apparently Teddy is the closest living relative to the Malfoys, which makes him the sole heir to Malfoy Manor and their fortune. Harry gathers, from the enclosed letter from Kingsley Shaklebolt, that it's taken this long to free the Malfoy's property, because most of the people working the case wanted the Malfoy assets to be seized and redistributed to ease the suffering of their victims.

He spends the rest of the morning pacing the kitchen with a mug of tea clutched between both hands, tapping on the wooden surface of the dining room table or looking at Buckbeak scraping the garden for fat grubs.

In the end he firecalls Neville to say he'll be late and goes to see Andromeda. She's in her garden with Teddy, pulling up weeds between her herbs. Teddy is digging for grubs with the same vigour as Buckbeak was back at Grimmauld Place, although, to Harry's relief, he doesn't seem to be eating them. He's grown so big already and when the toddler sees Harry his green hair changes to a black, unruly mess. With a smile Andromeda gets to her feet with the grace of a much younger woman and Harry lets himself be herded into the kitchen, Teddy on his hip.

Andromeda still serves tea in small, delicate cups.

Sometimes Harry finds it hard to believe that she was raised by the same parents who raised Bellatrix and Narcissa, but looking closely he sees the poise in the way she pours the hot water, in the way she sits, back straight and ankles crossed in the chair opposite Harry. In those moments Harry sees Narcissa looking back at him, even though Andromeda's features are much more like those of Bellatrix.

For a minute he considers telling her that he's got a new angle on the investigation, but in the end he doesn't. There's no reason to give her false hope if his lead turns out to be nothing.

“I got a letter today.” Harry says instead and takes the envelope out of his pocket.

Andromeda looks confused at first, but as her eyes scans down the first page of parchment her face settles into a calm smile.

“You're wondering why it's Teddy and not me.” She says and Harry nods.

Andromeda looks back at the letter, at the page that lists the properties and items that has been deemed safe to release, sans dark artefacts, Harry assumes.

“I passed the offer.” Andromeda says at last. “I hated that place, only sat foot in it once, right after my sister's funeral.” She sips her tea. It had been a joined funeral for Narcissa and Lucius, but Harry doesn't remind her.

Andromeda continues. “I walked every hall of that house, I took a few items that belonged to Cissy and then I left. He was still there, I could feel him.” Harry knows Andromeda isn't referring to Lucius, but Voldemort. Draco had said something similar once, the day he got his own flat. “I would have burned that whole place down if it were up to me.”

“If you hated that place so much then why pass it to Teddy?”

Andromeda sighs. “He's going to grow up not knowing what that house was. He's going to grow up in peace and surrounded by love. He's also going to grow up poor. I'm not rich and Salazar knows his parents didn't have much to leave him.” She stops herself, almost looking ashamed. “I know he has you, but you're not his father, Harry.”

“If you had accepted the heritage you would still have been able to give it all to him.” Harry argues.

“As I said, I would have burned it all down.” There is such anger in her voice and Harry knows that anger all too well, memories of Sirius and Remus, of his parents, rushing up in him.

“You miss her, don't you?”

“Of course I do. She was a kind sister and loving mother. No one seems to remember that.”

“I do.” Harry says and Andromeda looks at him, brown eyes watery. She nods, once, then looks at her hands.

“Now, at least, Teddy has a chance of making his own impression of the Manor,” She says. “A chance of making up his own stories about the ghosts, there. He can make it a home, because he doesn't know.”

Harry thinks he understands. He lives in a house Sirius hated, where dark magic wasn't uncommon and where house elves used to be decapitated when they became too old. Harry loves that house, because he remembers Sirius laughing in the kitchen and Remus and Tonks sitting by the fireplace. He remembers Fred's laughter echoing in the staircase and everyone gathering during meals.

Grimmauld Place has it's own ghosts, but it's Harry's home now. He filled it with fond memories.

 


	6. September 18

Friday Harry and Susan Bones hunt down a unlicensed breeder of Grabhorns near Englefield Park and Harry almost get stabbed by one of the ugly brutes, as the Wizard runs and hides between them. He and Susan returns to the office smelling like dung and sweat.

“I don't disagree on any particular point.” Kingsley says, when Harry goes to the Minister's office and suggest that maybe it's time for the M2s to be integrated into the Auror corps. “But if you want to be part of investigations with the trained Aurors, then they'll insist you and your team is brought up to level on the theoretic parts.”

“Can't we settle for taking a class in how to write up a report?” Harry asks with a crooked smile. Kingsley laughs, deep and booming.

“I'll have Head Auror Gale send over a list of basic requirements and you can set up the classes so it fits with your current cases, how is that?”

“I'll take it.” Harry says and gets up from his chair. “Sir.” He adds and gives a small nod before leaving Kingsley's office.

He calls in the rest of the M2s to give them the news and they all seem to agree with his and Kingsley's arrangement. They spend the rest of the afternoon training hand-to-hand combat in the Auror gym. It's not actually a required part of being an Auror, but Harry knows himself, knows he's still likely to throw a punch instead of casting a spell, if the situation calls for it. Plenty of good reasons to make sure it's a good punch.

That Harry doesn't always pick the magical solution is a curious little fact that seems to have made it's way around in the Auror department, much like his fondness for Expelliarmus had during the war. Many of the combat-experienced Aurors tend to show up during the M2's training to see him fight, even if they seem to be more amused than anything.

“Oh, Harry Potter!” Head Auror Gale says when Harry taps out against Lisa Turpin. “I can't believe what I'm seeing. The Chosen One beaten by a bookworm.”

Harry just grins. Head Auror Gale is a big guy, but Harry really doubts even he could hold himself in a fight against Lisa. She might be a Ravenclaw, but she has been training martial arts since she was steady on her feet, even if her father had seen it strictly as a source of discipline for her magic rather than an actual form of defence.

“I'd be more embarrassed about getting my arse kicked by a girl.” One of the newer Aurors mock-whispers and The Head spins on him.

“I don't wanna hear your sexist Griffinshit, Franklin!” Head Auror Gale growls. “Witches and Wizards are equal around here, you get that?”

“Yes sir.” Auror Franklin mutters, looking at the floor.

“Now get the hell out of here.” Head Auror Gale shoos the rest of the Aurors out of the gym and the M2 unit finishes off without an audience.

Harry takes his evening tea in the kitchen, fresh out of the shower.

The book is waiting for him when he sits down with his mug. He's not sure how he knows, he just does. Since the first day the magic surrounding the book has changed, not in a threatening way, but enough that Harry is reminded that it's a powerful bit of magic he's dealing with.

At this point he really doesn't have a reason to write in it. He's pretty sure his hunch about the two young Muggle witnesses is what he needs to finally get the case going.

But what if it isn't?

He lets his hand hover over the cover for a moment, feeling the magic throb inside like a heart beat. He knows it might just be the spell of the book playing with his mind, nudging his insecurities as an investigator to trick him into writing in it. Harry has had plenty of experience with the other Horcruxes, the necklace in particular, and they had worked their way into Harry's mind like a sickness.

But this book feels nothing like that. It feels like Draco.

Draco, who was ambitious, arrogant and overbearing at his best. Who overwrote emotions with logic and was a bloody fucking coward. Draco, who spent years finding Harry's triggers and seemed to get some kind of perverted pleasure from pressing them all. Harry used to think that was all there was to Draco Malfoy, even as he spoke for him at the trials.

Now Harry knows better. He had offered the Wizengamot to be Draco's guardian and since then Harry has seen rare glints of someone who can be warm and caring, someone who can even be brave, when he has a good enough reason to. Harry had let Draco fit his way into his life and at some point between balancing school work and mending his own broken mind, Harry had learned the value of having Draco Malfoy on his side.

Harry had assumed it worked both ways, but apparently Draco had not trusted Harry to be there for him when it mattered and Harry has no idea why not.

A rush of frustration has him swirling around and kicking the leg of the dining table. His mug of tea tips over, spills it's content and rolls off the edge to clatter against the tiles of the kitchen, because Harry had focused his seeker reflexes on reaching out and grabbing Draco's Book away from the fast-spreading pool of tea instead.

“Bugger!” He says and starts mopping up with a kitchen towel, glad the tea wasn't scolding hot.

That night Harry doesn't write in the book. He's not sure if the part of Draco inside the pages is capable of feeling abandoned, but Harry forces himself not to care. He leaves the book in his study and goes to bed thinking about his friends.

He thinks about Ron who's working along side George in Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, living above the shop in a small flat that, to some extend, reminds Harry of the Burrow. Harry really likes coming there, likes the atmosphere and the grandfather clock in the corner and the bright orange things everywhere, because Ron apparently isn't going to give up on his favourite team any time soon.

He thinks about Hermione, who is spending the semester in Romania, studying Dragons for her paper on the Beast/Being classification system. Harry never asked how she and Ron had planned to keep their relationship going while she is away.

Maybe they weren't. Maybe they had realized, like he and Ginny, that falling in love with someone during a war, where emotions run high and you cling onto every scrap of happiness you can find, isn't the best base for a long term relationship.

“Emotions are weird, aren't they?” Ginny had said, lacing their fingers together as they sat on the porch of the Burrow. “I know I still love you, but-”

“I know,” Harry had said, feeling the same. “But we don't stay the same people forever.”

“We don't.” And Ginny had looked at him with a soft, knowing smile and Harry's chest had ached, because Merlin help him, Harry did still love her. He loved the way she was fire through and through. The way she'd be sunshine when she smiled and lightning when she fought and slowly burning embers when she'd kiss him.

That was how Harry had known that they weren't going to last. Because Ginny shone the _least_ when they were together.

 


	7. September 19

That Saturday Harry has Neville over for lunch.

Afterwards they take a tour of the garden, because Harry knows there are some interesting plants hiding in the wilderness and he's afraid Buckbeak will dig them all up in his search for worms and grubs. Nevillle is excited to find a large enclave of Dittany behind the rhubarbs and Harry is horrified to find a Devil's Snare hiding inside the dark centre of a large Rhododendron brush.

“Do you think I'm reckless?” he asks Neville as the two of them sit on the grass, padding fresh dirt around the plants they've dug up and placed in ceramic pots.

“You just uprooted a Devil's Snare.” Neville says, as if that's the lowest bar there is. Harry tries to smile, but Neville – bless him – can see it's insincere. “Look, Harry. You spend your teenage years doing dangerous and mental things, but you always landed on your feet. You always seem to know which fights you can win. If I thought you were reckless I wouldn't have joined M2 with you. What's this about?”

Harry knows he could tell Neville. He could tell him about Draco and about the book and about working Narcissa's shelved case. Neville would probably understand, but instead Harry takes his time poking holes for a few seedlings they dug up; Neville says they're a mutated variation of Pewter Celandine.

“I just- I might have gotten myself into a fight I can't really win. Not without doing something really stupid.” Harry says, hoping that it is just vague enough that Neville won't figure out what it's really about. Which is probably like hoping for a miracle, because Neville is better at reading Harry than Harry cares to admit. At least he doesn't know about the Horcrux, so Harry doesn't have to worry about Neville figuring out what that _something stupid_ might be.

“You know, when we were kids I would have given anything to be your friend.” Neville says then and Harry feels himself blush, because he never wanted to be on anyone's pedestal and certainly not on Neville's. They are too similar for that.

“Not because of who you were.” Neville quickly assures him, probably because he notices Harry's unease. “But because you always stood up for your friends. You always give everything to help people you care about. It's just what comes natural to you. I don't think that makes you reckless.”

“But what if, this time, I can't give everything?” Harry asks, thinking about the Horcrux.

“You'll just have to figure out a balance, a way to give enough without giving too much.” Neville says and studies him while padding the earth around a Midnight Sage. “We're supposed to learn how to be real Aurors now, right? Maybe this _thing_ you're doing is a good place to start. I mean, you're the best I know at taking down Dark Wizards, but being an Auror is about more than just the take down. Sometimes it's about finding the guilty and other times it's just about righting a wrong.”

Harry isn't sure how much Neville has managed to guess, but none the less he has a point. If Harry wants to become a decent Auror he needs to learn how to solve cases and sometimes that means working with what you're given. Even if it's a Horcrux.

 


	8. September 21

Monday morning the M2s start a week long seminar on Emergency Antidotes as part of their new training.

Deciding it's a perfect occasion to test out the small potions lab in the basement of Grimmauld Place, Harry stops by the Hogwarts' Greenhouses just before dinner time to get his potions kit restocked. Professor Sprout is teaching what appears to be an O.W.L class and he waits for her students to mill out, hungry enough that none of them throw him a second glance as they pass him.

Professor Sprout collects the ingredients on his list while he cleans up after her class and they talk about the old times. Harry tells her about the plants Neville collected and he promises to stop by in the fall with some seeds from his Fae-Spun Lungwart.

“I'm glad to see you smile, Mr. Potter.” She says. “I know it's hard to believe, with hundreds of students passing though this school, but we teachers do care about every single one of you. Even the ones who doesn't make it easy.”

For some reason Harry knows she's referring to Draco Malfoy and he almost tells her that Draco wasn't hard to care about at all, but that would be a lie and Harry must not tell lies.

Instead he smiles and thanks her for the Mandrake's Tears.

Draco's Book doesn't move on its own, doesn't magically follow him around. Harry almost wishes that was the case, because instead he has to accept that after just a few days he has already taken to carrying it around with him as he moves through the house.

At least he doesn't bring it with him for work, but that's mostly because he's afraid someone will notice it and ask questions. He's not sure if that really qualifies as finding a balance, like Neville suggested.

“I went to Hogwarts today.” He writes and then turns on the lamp, because it started raining and the bruised sky outside makes the study seem darker than it is. It's actually one of Harry's favourite rooms of the house, tall windows giving him an excellent view of the garden, where Buckbeak is currently braving the foul weather to hunt toads.

He's not sure why he redecorated the study to resemble the room he shared with Draco during their last year at Hogwarts. Except they had both lived through a war, coming out on the other side as broken versions of themselves and somehow that room had healed them both.

Calmly he decides on today's entry. The day, a year ago, where Harry and his classmates had returned to finish their last year at Hogwarts.

 

> _September 1st 1998._
> 
> Once the Start of Term feast is over and the younger students are being escorted to their respective dormitories McGonagall looks down at the few remaining people, scattered around the nearly vacated House tables.
> 
> “Gather around.” She says and gestures towards the Hufflepuff table where the two dozen retuning students from Harry's year settle while exchanging greetings.
> 
> There are more of them than Harry had expected. Two Slytherin girls and a Ravenclaw boy had moved to Beauxbatons and a few students had chosen to take the special Summer NEWT's exams, but apart from that almost all of Harry's classmates have returned to finish their education.
> 
> It had taken Kingsley Shacklebolt a while to convince McGonagall to accept the terms of the returning M2 students. The curriculum wasn't made to accommodate part time students, who would be leaving the classes and castle at a moment's notice to help the Aurors chase down Dark Wizards, but in the end she had let her concern for their education come before school traditions. After all, no matter how they went about it, this was going to be an unusual school year.
> 
> “I'm not going to patronize you by stating just how important this year is for you.” McGonagall says as she stands before them in the Great Hall. “Not just in terms of your academic results, but also as part of a healing process.”
> 
> Next to Harry Pavati Patil straightens her back, fingers rolling the black pearls of her bracelet over the scarred skin of her wrist. Harry knows the letters on the pearls spell out `Lavender´.
> 
> “You are all very different people than the children who left this school after your sixth year. All of you have suffered loss in the past year, but you are not the only ones who needs to mend. The school needs to mend too.” She puts her finger tips together and looks at them. “Which is why the staff has agreed that you will not be returning to your old Houses.”
> 
> There's a soft murmur between the students, but it fizzles out quickly. No one seems to be surprised. They are all wearing black ties with the Hogwarts emblem on instead of their House colours. All of them had been redirected to grey or black scarves and socks when they restocked for this school year.
> 
> McGonagall continues. “Of course that means you will not be able to participate in the earning of House points nor be allowed to play in the Quidditch House Cup.”
> 
> “What about classes then?” A Ravenclaw named Kevin Entwhistle presses, just as Justin Finch-Fletchley asks, “Where do we sleep?”
> 
> McGonagall raises her hands to silence them. “Some of the regular NEWT classes are small enough to accommodate a few extra students, but Transfigurations, Potions, Charms and our two new classes, Duel Technique and Curse Breaking, have had so many sign-ups that we've had to split the classes into two. Your new schedules will be handed out first thing tomorrow morning. Regarding your sleeping arrangements.” She walks back to the Staff Table and returns with a scroll of parchment. “As you might have noticed the Castle has had to endure a rather extensive rebuild over the summer.” That's putting it mildly, Harry thinks. There's still a gaping hole in the east wall and they've had to completely rebuild the Astronomy Tower. “We've managed to fit in a temporary Common Room, as well as adjoining Dormitories, each designed to home two people.”
> 
> She hands the scroll to Hermione, who is the nearest student, and after giving the list a short glance Hermione passes it to Pavati next to her. Harry is the next to get the list with Ron looking over his shoulder, but Harry already knows he is roomed with Malfoy, since Malfoy is only here because Harry, as the leader of M2 and The Chosen One, had promised to be Malfoy's Guardian.
> 
> “She must be joking.” Ron whispers in Harry's ear. Harry drags his eyes from Draco Malfoy's name next to his own to find Ron paired off with Michael Corner.
> 
> “Michael's an M2. He saved your life.” Harry reminds him, letting Ron pass the list to Sally-Anne Perks.
> 
> “He used to snog my sister.” Ron says defeated. “It's awkward, is all. She gave you Malfoy, right?”
> 
> “Yeah.” Harry says and finds Malfoy's eyes across the table. “I got Malfoy.”

_Draco Malfoy_ , Harry thinks and shuts the book to stare at the leather binding. It's ornamented with pretty filigree patterns along the edges and Harry shivers, because he knows markings like that, knows what causes them and knows where on Draco's skin to find matching ones.

But the book isn't Draco. It's not. It's easy to pretend and pretending makes it easier to write in it, but Harry shouldn't be fooling himself. He's an Auror, he knows dark magic and he sure as Salazar's pointy hat knows Horcruxes.

That night he leaves the book in the study and decides not to write in it again.

 

 


	9. September 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On popular demand I have changed the format a bit, (hopefully) making it easier to see when the actual story takes place and when Harry is writing memories in the Book. I've also added dates to the memories, to make it clearer when they are taking place. Now you can all feel horrible along with me about the date of Draco's trial.

Tuesday afternoon Harry receives a bright yellow envelope at work. He quickly rips it open to find that his request to restore the memories of the two young witnesses has been granted. He contemplate for a moment before he snatches his Auror robes from the hook by the door and goes to the stall at the end of the row.

“Harry.” Lisa Turpin says when Harry knocks and sticks his head in to smile at her. “I was just about to leave for the day.”

“Oh, that's too bad.” Harry says. “I guess I'll have to run this case alone, then.”

A wide smile spreads across Lisa's face. “An actual case? I've done nothing but write up these damn rapports all week. Seriously, just because I have boobs.” She rants and reaches for her own robes and she's so tiny she has to stand on her toes. “Is it dangerous? I bet it's dangerous. Should I bring the Med Kit?”

“No, but you can bring two lollipops.” Harry says and hands her the case file. It's not Narcissa's case. He's had this one created specifically, titled and filed under Memory Alteration on Minor – Muggle Misconduct.

“Oh.” Lisa says and her face falls a little. “Guess it's not very dangerous.”

“Sounds like it's been a long time since you've been around pre-pubescent boys.” Harry says and leads the way to the lifts.

Harry would have preferred to bring Neville, but Neville already knows too much and Harry doesn't want to be answering too many questions just yet. His second choice would have been Susan Bones, because she's really good with people and especially kids, but he had dismissed her instantly, because she's too close to the case. Her whole family was killed by Voldemort himself and while Harry can't imagine someone like Susan would have anything to do with the murder of Narcissa, he'd rather not involve her in an investigation about a Death Eater assumed killed by people who had suffered at the hands of Death Eaters. No matter what, it's bound to be a sore spot for her and Harry really doesn't want to hurt her.

Lisa Turpin, on the other hand, is far too logical to be swept away by anything as dreadfully pernicious as emotions – her own words. In a way she reminds Harry a lot of Hermione, except most of the time it's 11 year old Hermione. She can be infuriatingly arrogant and loves to prove how right she is all the time, but Harry has spent the past year living with Malfoy, so he's more or less gotten used to looking past that sort of behaviour, to see the usefulness of her candour and her deep well of knowledge.

They Apparate to the address given in Narcissa's case file and end up a short way from a modern-looking farm house with a stylish courtyard.

“So Harry,” Lisa says as they transfigure their robes into Muggle Police attires and stove away their wands. “Are you going to tell me the truth about why we're here before I have to find out from some traumatized kid's restored memories?”

“How-” He starts, but the flint of anger in her eyes makes him fall silent. He should have picked Justin instead.

“Don't think for one second you can fib me, Harry Potter. I took a class in Instinct and Profiling, remember?”

“Fine. Sorry.” It's not that he had fooled himself into believing that he wouldn't have to explain at some point, but he had really hoped it would be at a more distant point, long after he had, hopefully, gotten the evidence he needed, so he'd know if there even was a lead to follow up on or not.

“Mark and Randy Aiken are witnesses in another case I'm working. I didn't tell you about it, because it might really just be a case of Muggle Misconduct.”

“But if their minds have been altered, and you must have proof or you wouldn't have gotten permission for a memory restoration, then surely something rotten is going on?”

“It could have been an Auror, who Obliviated them and forgot to put it in the report.” Harry says, hoping she won't ask, but of course she does.

“And what report was it? What's the case you're working, Harry?”

“The murder of Narcissa Malfoy.” Harry says and almost expects an “ _Oh, Harry_!”

“You _son of a bitch_.” Lisa says instead and the smile from earlier is back on her face. “Bloody wanker, why didn't you tell me?”

He's trying so hard to get over the slightly mad smile on her face and the far too pleased tone in her voice, that he forgets to shush her. “Eh, I-”

“I've been pushing papers for a week.” She's practically glowing. “Please don't take me off this case after today.”

“It's not exactly an active case.” Harry reminds her, still feeling a little taken aback.

“Bu-hu, who cares.” And she's marching off towards the front door, rapping the knocker hard four times. “Send me all the paper work you've got when we get back. It's not like I have a social life anyway.”

Two hours later they say their goodbyes and walk across the courtyard in the drizzle, not stopping until they're out of sight so they can Apparate. Harry is clutching two small vials of silvery memories and Lisa has a clipboard filled with hastily scribbled notes.

“I knew that case was off. Bloody hell, Harry!” Lisa says and she doesn't even look remotely tired, which just isn't natural considering she had been the one to restore both boy's memories.

“What do you mean, you knew it was off?” He says, spinning on her. She just shakes her head.

“Because of Susan, of course.”

“Our Susan?”

“Yes. Look, it was right after Mrs. Malfoy was killed. We were out for lunch and this woman, well, I think she might have recognized Susan, I mean everyone knew her aunt. And this woman, this kind looking little lady, asked if Susan wasn't glad, now that another Death Eater had been brought to justice. You should have seen her Harry, she was really broken up about it. People actually thought she'd be _pleased_.”

“Yeah,” Harry says slowly. “But of course she'd be hurt by that. Susan isn't exactly a killer.”

“She is, though. She was the one who killed Rowle, remember?”

“So what you're saying is that, even though Susan is capable of killing and had every right to be angry that a Death Eater was pardoned, she wouldn't have killed one in cold blood?”

“Doesn't that make sense?”

“It does.” Harry agrees, with a nod.

“So?” Lisa presses, looking slightly too fervent.

“Not all people are Hufflepuffs. Some aren't as forgiving as our Susan  _and_ -” He presses, because Lisa opens her mouth to interrupt. “-someone _did_ in fact kill Narcissa Malfoy. And someone might have chased Draco and Lucius Malfoy right into a darkness of Dementors.”

“And we've got a lot of their faces in those small vials, don't we?” Lisa says with a grin. “Time to go be detectives, Harry Potter.”

 


	10. September 23

After his test in Symptoms and Diagnostic on Wednesday Harry is approached by one of the Mediwitches leading the Emergency Antidotes seminar.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry turns to face a woman with grey streaks in her auburn hair. She gives him a tight smile.

“This isn't in anyway official.” She says, as if to assure him. Harry waits. “My sister works at the Peppin Dowel's ward.” She continues. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but Harry can't pin-point it until the Mediwitch continues. “It's not that the patients there get a lot of visitors. Well, calling them patients may be too kind. It's not like there's a cure for them. Mostly it's just about keeping the poor people alive until their relatives have had a chance to say goodbye and are ready to let go.”

“This is about Draco Malfoy.” Harry says, as understanding hits him.

She nods, pressing her lips together. “You have to understand that it's a touchy situation. The Malfoys are wealthy and they've given a lot to the hospital over the years. But even then there's got to be a limit. If no one is coming, then there's not much point in keeping the poor boy alive.”

Touchy is a kind way to describe the situation, but Harry can't tell her that. He can't tell her that he spend two weeks trying to accept that Draco was dead, just to have a piece of Draco's soul handed to him like it was a late birthday present. But Draco is gone and all Harry wants is a chance to move on.

“Draco doesn't have anyone left.” he tells the Witch.

“Except he does.” She says. “You, Mr. Potter.”

“My guardianship of Draco Malfoy ended more than two months ago when the restrictions on his magic were lifted.”

“I am aware. But I was informed that the ownership of the Malfoy estates has recently been intrusted to you, which means it's up to you to decide when young Mr. Malfoy's body should no longer be kept magically alive."

“Is it about money?”

“No, it's about dignity, Mr. Potter.” The Mediwitch says. “He's a handsome young man. It cuts into an old woman's heart to see him wasting away.”

“I want to see him.” Harry says, surprising himself. “Is there a good time to visit?”

“That ward doesn't have specific visiting hours.” The Mediwitch says, brows drawing together as she tries to read Harry's intentions. “But the hospital closes at ten.”

“I'll just grab a few things, then.” Harry says and nods his goodbyes before leaving the classroom.

An hour later he finds himself in a side ally across from Purge and Dowse, Ltd. He passes through the window and steps into the crowded entry hall. 

A few lime-clad Healers glances his way before resuming their conversation and after a short exchange with the Wizard at the information desk Harry shows himself through the long halls until he stands in front of the Peppin Dowel's ward.

Everything in here is relatively new, but the general feel of the ward is that of a graveyard. Which, in some ways, it is. The patients here are a mix of Muggleborns who were Kissed for refusing to show up at their trials during Umbridge's purge and others are here because they were unlucky during the war, when Dementors were under Voldemort's control.

Unlike other wards the patients here doesn't have their own rooms. Instead they are spread out in one large, open room, like patients would be in a field hospital and it adds to the feeling of standing in a cemetery.

Draco Malfoy is lying neatly in his bed, face as pale as ever and hair freshly cut. Harry remembers the Mediwitch's words about Draco being handsome, and while that's true, mostly Harry just thinks he looks _young_. And vulnerable. 

Harry hadn't been surprised to hear that no one had been to see Draco's body. It's not that Draco doesn't have people who cares, but Harry imagines that they've stayed away for the same reason as Harry; because Draco isn't actually here. It's just a shell, a corps kept magically alive, much the same way as the Horcrux is keeping the shard of Draco's soul from slipping away. 

Harry sits down and takes the Horcrux out of his bag. It's not that he is expecting anything to happen really. If things were as easy as just bringing the piece of Draco's soul and his body together Shacklebolt would surely have done that as soon as the book came into his possession. Bringing the two together now is purely for Harry's own sake, for the sake of the illusion that maybe Harry can actually fix this somehow, impossible as that sounds.

Harry thinks about how a person would even work with only a part of their soul intact. Comparing the clever Tom Riddle to the madness of Voldemort, it is safe to say that splitting pieces of your soul off leaves a crippled, sick and tarnished piece in that person. But the first pieces to be split off, like the one in Draco's book, would in theory be the purest. Maybe a person can still be good, even with just a shard, if it is a shard like that.

Taking Draco's hand, Harry lays it gently on the leather binding and waits.

“Is this part of my punishment?” Draco had asked that first evening at Hogwarts a year ago. Harry was unpacking his trunk while Draco sat on the edge of his own bed, looking on.

“It's part of your rehabilitation.” Harry had answered, stowing socks away in the top drawer. “Believe it or not, this is the kindest option.”

“Oh, were there other options?” Draco's voice had been ice as he flicked his wand to unpack his trunk by magic. “I'm pretty sure this was the only one presented to me.”

 _You haven't exactly proven any prowess when it comes to decision making_. Harry had wanted to say, but he hadn't, because the whole arrangement, the whole plan they had worked for - Arthur, Kingsley, McGonagall, Hermione and Harry - would have been pretty useless if Harry and Draco couldn't even get through ten minutes without fighting.

Neither of them hadt spoken another word for the rest of the night and it had taken almost two months before they returned to that conversation.

Harry looks down at Draco's hand resting on the book and wills the fingers to move, but nothing happens.

That night Harry sleeps with the book under his pillow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that there is no new chapter for September 24. Instead you get the interview with Harry's team mates from the May 2nd Unit "Meet the Team."


	11. September 25

They wrap up their seminar in Emergency Antidotes Friday at lunch with a final test. To celebrate that everyone got impressive marks on their tests Harry takes the M2s to a laser tag club in East London for a bit of “wand play”, as Lisa so indelicately puts it.

It's an old warehouse that's been made mostly sound proof and has been set up with terrain in three different levels. The ground level is filled with crushed cement blocks, metal debris, car wrecks and a real – although broken – tank. They've been here a couple of times before, because it's much more realistic than the room they usually train in.

The Aurors who once upon a time had started the tradition of coming here, had called the two competing teams MoMs and Deathies and because the current Aurors are completely with out tact, they still do.

“The use of any real harmful spells is _strickly_ forbidden.” Harry reminds them as they draw lot for teams. “I don't want paperwork after today, got it?”

When the M2s train back in the Ministry’s training room they usually just practice positioning and counter attacks. Once in a while Harry will stop the fight, reconstruct and point out flaws, missed opportunities and general misplays. Sometimes Harry favour combat healing spells and counter curses, other days they practice setting up traps and focus teamwork. Once in a while Harry fill out the required paperwork to train shaking off an Imperius and blocking the Cruciatus Curse, but after their third time Harry is the only one to manage both.

When they come here, however, it's to learn to think on their feet and how to dance around obstacles and curses. Just like the real thing it comes down to how well you manage the surge of adrenalin and how quick you are to recognize and dismantle the incoming attack.

Afterwards they all take ten minutes to clean up any residual magic there might be lingering from the spells cast and dismantle any remaining traps. The rainy streets are quiet when the six of them slip out of the warehouse. Harry sets the alarm before they all wish each other a pleasant weekend and Harry Apparates home to Grimmauld Place.

The lights are on and there's a sound of voices coming from the kitchen.

“You don't call, you don't write.” Ron says with a teasing smile, as Harry walks through the door. Ron is cooking and from the smell of it Harry assumes it's Mrs. Weasley's fish and clam chowder. Around the table sits George and Ginny and they greet him, George with a casual wave and a nod, and Ginny with a bright smile and a “Harry Potter, is that really you?”

He smiles at her tease, because it's barely been three weeks since he saw her last, but also because it feels good just to be able to have this easy relationship with her. It took awhile, though. It took restraining himself and changing his mind, then changing it back again. It took a week of fighting down an angry, jealous monster in his stomach when she started seeing a boy in her own year. It took an awkward summer holiday and an even more awkward train ride back to Hogwarts, as well as a dozen or more awkward greetings around the Castle. Luckily they didn't have to share a Common Room or even meals and as time passed so did the feeling of having made the wrong decision.

“You're the one who keeps missing Weasley Family Dinners.” he points at Ginny, “And who left M2 to become a hot shot businessman.” He points at Ron and pads his back as he pulls him in for a hug.

“Saves me coming home smelling like that.” Ron jokes and Harry makes a face.

“Sorry, Combat Training.” Harry says apologetically. “Can the food wait while I take a quick shower?”

“S'fine.” Ron says. “Have at it, mate.”

“We'll just stay here, invading your living space.” George adds and Harry leaves the bright warmth of the kitchen.

As Harry makes his way down to the bathroom he passes the door to his Study. Sticking in his head he notes that Draco's Book is still where he left it – why wouldn't it be? - and with a flick of his wand he locks the door behind him. It's not that he thinks the Weasleys will come snooping in his Study, but he's not willing to take chances. Two out of three will instantly recognize the innocent-looking book for what it is, just by the feel of the magic radiating from it and the third will probably find it suspicious enough to investigate.

Harry lets the warm water work out the kinks in his back and gently cleans a few abrasions on his knees and one elbow. He'll have bruises tomorrow, but he's getting used to that. If you're not willing to give your all you are going to lose, and Harry isn't willing to lose.

Maybe that's why this plan with Draco's Book bothers Harry so much: If he's going to make this work, feeding the book just enough to get the answers from it that he needs – assuming that the Book even has answers – Harry is going to walk a very fine line over a very deep chasm. Neville had said that all Harry had to give was _enough_ and he hadn't even known how right he was. Harry just isn't sure the book will let him stop once he's reached that point. Which is why he shouldn't be writing in it at all.

Harry still has no idea why Kingsley had given him the book to begin with. Maybe he had given it to Harry for safe keeping or maybe as a momentum, but Harry really doubts that is the case. By his own words Shacklebolt knows how problematic Harry and Draco's relationship had been, but Harry is pretty sure he also knows that it had changed. Had he been counting on Harry still being suspicious of Draco by default or had he given Harry the book assuming he would continue his mission to save Draco?

Harry hadn't asked Kingsley then, mostly because the Minister had been vague and alluding and Harry really didn't have the patience for that right after having been told that Draco wasn't actually lost after all and that a part of him was still safe and currently in Harry's possession.

Harry summons a towel and decides to write Kingsley an owl later that evening.

He never does.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The above art can be found at my [Tumblr](http://flyingassassin.tumblr.com/tagged/The-Heart-of-Me). Please do not repost art from this project.  
> For the Wallpaper version of the above art go [here](http://flyingassassin.tumblr.com/post/129848016645).


	12. September 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dug around a little and couldn't find any canon mention of which Quidditch Team Viktor Krum played for, so I made one up. Zimata Idva is Bulgarian for "Winter is Coming" (or something closely resembling. Let's be honest, I got it of Translate)

Ron, Ginny and George stay at Grimmauld Place the entire night.

The Weasleys all seem better at opening up and talking about the dark stuff and Harry knows it's because they all, unlike him, grew up loved. They all share a capacity for kindness that you only get from living together in a tight space, sharing laughs, bathrooms and meals. The Weasleys, despite never having much extra in terms of money, had always been some of the riches people Harry knows, and their hearts had been strong enough to make it through the pain of their loss.

For every dark night of the war they have a story about Lee Jordan accidentally broadcasting Potterwatch to a Muggle navy ship; about the morning of the 1st of September when Ginny and Molly had goaded the Ghoul in the attic down into Ron's room and worked together to make it look more like Ron with Spattergroit; about how Fred and George – Harry pretended not to notice the flash of grief on their faces – had put very subtle farting-jinxes on the Snatchers, who had come to inspect their shop in Diagon Ally.

As much as Harry misses having Ron at his back for M2 raids and strikes, he is happy his friend had decided to take up with George in the shop. It had been hard for Harry to lose Ron as part of the team, but the fact that Ron is happy and a lot safer compared, is enough to make up for it, in Harry's book.

It's the same with Ginny, really. Harry knows she's happy where she is, knows she loves her life. Her attempt at moving on from Harry had given her the determination she had needed to try out for the Harpies, where she'd made starter in the upcoming season. Maybe it's not what she imagined for herself two or three years ago, but Harry suspects she would never have gotten where she is today if they had gotten back together, so that's got to be enough to make their break-up worth it.

“There are no bad decisions.” Luna had told him at Shell Cottage, when he had a flash of fear that he had made the wrong choice about not trying to beat Voldemort for the Elder Wand. “The only thing that can be bad is how we deal with the outcome.”

The way Ginny lights up when she talks about her new job is enough to tell Harry all he needs to know.

“We're playing Zimata Idva in November.” Ginny tells them. “Just a friendship match, of course, but it's great publicity. Gemma was really impressed that I managed to arrange it. I couldn't bring myself to tell her it was actually all down to Hermione. She's the one who set it up through Victor Krum – oh, don't give us that look, Ron.”

“They're still close friends then.” Ron says, looking defeated and Harry knows right then that Ron and Hermione aren't together any more. Harry can't say he's surprised.

He, Ron and Hermione have a close bond that no measure of distance or time is ever going to break, but they are also very different people, who all deal with things in very different ways. Unsurprisingly Hermione had dealt with the fallout of the war by gathering knowledge and, at least for now, Ron has been sidelined.

Her postcards from around the world decorates the wall of Harry's Study, the last few from Romania where Hermione studies the intelligence of Dragons, but Harry knows her ambition is to join the Ministry and raise the bar for magical governments world wide, which means she'll have to come home one day.

Whether her and Ron have grown more compatible by then is something Harry won't even try to guess at, but he is pretty sure it's not going to turn out too well if Ron spends the time until then mooning over Hermione.

Which is why, when Ron says, “Romania boarders Bulgaria, dunnit?”, Harry decides that, instead of all the things he could say (“I'm close friends with Viktor, too. He's a great guy.” or “Hermione is fully capable of being friends with someone of the opposite sex with out it leading anywhere.”) all Harry says is, “Did Charlie tell you he got her on a broom?” and the chatter goes on from there.

As they pass two o'clock George and Ginny grows increasingly fascinated with how eccentric Kreacher is. Kreacher had quickly gotten past calling them Blood-traitors on one of their previous visits, where they had praised Regulus for his cunning plan to bring Voldemort down during the first War. Tonight they are spending a good three hours coaxing Kreacher into telling them stories about  The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

In the mean time Harry tells Ron about Narcissa's case, only leaving out the part about Draco's Book.

“You know the team would have a lot better chance of helping you if you actually, you know, let them help you.” Ron says.

“I've got Lisa.”

“And she's brilliant.” Ron agrees with a nod. “Which made her a great Ravenclaw, but she's not going to have your back if you get yourself into a bad spot. And it's not because she's not brave, or loyal, or willing to do what needs doing. It's because she's too smart to follow you blindly.”

“I don't need her to follow me blindly. I need her to stop me.” Harry explains. “You know me.”

Ron sighs. “You're probably right. I guess I just miss being there, you know. The two of us.”

At five o'clock the four of them Floos to the Burrow where they start cooking breakfast. The kitchen is a bit of a mess when Mrs and Mr. Weasley joins them half an hour later, but after a Hogwarts-worthy feast of pancakes, eggs and bacon, buttered toast and Mrs. Weasley's own blend of green tea, they all work together to clean up before Harry Floos home to sleep.

Mrs. Weasley gives him a tight hug before she lets him go, but thankfully she puts the dark circles under Harry's eyes and the pale colour of his skin down to him having been up the whole night. She does, however, tell him to eat more good meals and reminds him to stop by for the Weasley Sunday Dinner.

Harry wakes up past noon and goes to feed Buckbeak. It's drizzling outside, but Harry still finds himself standing out there while Buckbeak devourers his rats, feeling calmer and more content than he has in days. Maybe it's because he spend the night laughing with his friend or maybe because he had told Ron about Narcissa's case and Ron hadn't once told Harry that it sounded like a waste of time.

Ron is amazing like that. He doesn't always agree with Harry's point of view, but he always seem to understand where Harry is coming from.

For example, Ron had never questioned why Harry wanted to defend Draco at his trial, or why Harry had agreed to be Draco's guardian when they went back to Hogwarts. Ron still thought Draco was a prat, and his hand still twitched around his wand when ever Draco and Hermione got in a fight, but as long as Draco never called her a Mudblood, Ron stayed out of it.

Feeling happy for the first time in weeks Harry goes back inside to the fireplace, throws a handful of Floo Powder into the fire and takes the disorienting trip to Hambleden. Andromeda is reading in her sitting room and from the quiet Harry guesses Teddy is down for his nap.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow?” Andromeda says and he follows her out into her kitchen, where she makes him tea and offers him scones.

“Still am.” Harry says and accepts the tiny cup balancing on a saucer. “But I just felt in a good mood and I guess, I just wanted to see you both under more cheerful circumstances.”

“Harry, my dear boy.” Andromeda says, laying her hand on top of his. “Our Sundays aren't supposed to be sad.”

“I know. That's not- I didn't mean it like that.” Harry says and gives her a smile. “I just wanted to see you both.”

When Teddy wakes up it's still raining so Harry spends the rest of the day playing with his Godson and the cats out in the neatly kept Conservatory.

 


	13. September 28

Monday Harry and Michael Corner strikes against a Supporter up in Norwich.

As soon as they Port Key in, a little up the road from the house, they set off the alarm wards littering the area. They quickly work together to place a strong Anti-Disapparition Jinx over the entire property before forcing their way through the invisible wall of wards and spells. It ends up being a messy affair, though, because the old Wizard has rigged his front yard with traps and by the time they get to him, he's off'ed himself in the kitchen.

“Fuck that!” Michael says and kicks a chair. “Fuck you, you fucking coward!”

Michael has always been the worst of the M2s at handling failure, not that Harry doesn't understand his frustration. It's not the first time this happens, not even the fifth time. In the beginning the Supporters would always try to take as many Aurors as possible with them as they went down, but then highly exaggerated rumours about the M2's skills started circulating and many of the Supporters had started taking their own lives instead of risking capture and interrogation.

“Hey.” Harry says to distract Michael. “Let me see that cut.”

Michael had triggered a slicing trap outside the house, a particularly nasty one with a twist in the spellwork that made it go of as soon as someone tried to disarm it. Michael had never been an expert in Dark Magic, not like Harry was, and it could have gone so much worse if Harry hadn't been fast or if Michael had hesitated to follow Harry's orders for just a second.

The first time Harry had fought alongside Michael was against a rowdy group of Supporters in mid May, more than a year ago. Michael hadn't trusted Harry then and that almost got them both killed.

When Michael had come to Harry's office after their return Harry still hadn't been sure how to handle him. He couldn't force Michael to trust him and even if he could he wouldn't. That wasn't the kind of leader Harry wanted to be and it definitely wasn't the kind of Team he wanted at his back.

“Do we have a problem?” Harry had asked, looking up at Michael who had defiantly stayed in his Auror stance in front of Harry's desk. Harry could have ordered Michael to have a seat, but the last thing the team needed was a pissing fight.

“No.” Michael had said, angry gaze flickering from Harry's face to somewhere behind his head.

“Then why does it feel like we have a problem?” Harry had asked.

“We don't. I just think you made the wrong call.”

Harry had been expecting that. “Maybe I did.” He had admitted. “I don't always make the right choices.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't be leader.” Michael had said coldly.

“Someone has to be.” Harry had shrugged. “And I think I've shown a fair amount of competence, enough that the Wizarding World trust me. Question is, why don't you?”

“You just said-”

“Yeah, that I'm not always right. But I picked a team of skilled people that I trust and I expect that team to follow my orders, because no matter if it's the right call or not, we have a better chance of winning if we're all on the same page. You're not the only one putting your life in someone else's hands. I put my life in your hands, too, you know.” Michael had taken his time thinking Harry's words over before he had pulled out the chair in front of Harry's desk and sat in it. 

Harry shakes the memory off and takes Michael's wrist. Michael's eyes flicker and stray out the kitchen window, and Harry remembers that Michael - though as he acts – is squeamish about blood.

“It's not as bad as it looks.” Harry says as he cleans away the blood. The cut isn't as deep as Harry had feared and it's managed to miss all the bigger arteries on the inside of Michael's wand arm. Harry digs out a small jar of dittany from his Med Kit and applies a generous amount over the wound, making Michael flinch in pain.

“I should have been dead.” Michael says and Harry doesn't like the no-nonsense way he says it, like almost dying is just another day at the office, but Harry knows the whole team talks like that, more or less. The only one who still comes to Harry's office after a close call is Justin and sometimes Neville, if he feels like Harry could use a talk, too.

“There's a reason we work in pairs.” Harry reminds him, casting a diagnostic spell on Michael's hand to make sure there's no nerve damage.

 

It takes another three hours to comb the house and in the end they don't really get anything, except a few cursed items, some illegal potion ingredients and tons of paperwork.

It had felt a lot like that lately. Long hunts to follow up on a whisper, then days spent trying to get a feel on the area and the target without raising suspicion. And then, if they were very lucky, they could mount a strike and hope that they could get close enough to begin locking down the area before the target could Apparate away.

Most of the time, though, there aren't even any whispers to follow.

They would all be happy to think that it means things are slowing down, but there isn't a shred of doubt between the M2s that the quiet means something bad is brewing. People doesn't just off themselves to avoid capture, unless they have something really bad to hide.

When Harry arrives home it's almost midnight.

 


	14. September 29

When Harry sits down to eat breakfast Tuesday morning it is with Draco's Book in front of him.

It's not that he actually plan on writing in it. For the past few days he has kept it locked in his study, but he had slowly gotten more and more anxious, checking on it a few times a day just to make sure it was still where he left it. Instead he has gone back to carrying it around, which – if he's being honest with himself - is only slightly less creepy.

He flips through the empty pages while he forces himself to eat his porridge. He's not really hungry, the stress of the previous day and the lack of sleep making his body ache, but he has a full day of theoretical classes ahead of him, so he needs food to keep his head sharp.

When the the special May 2nd unit had first been build it had been dark days and there hadn't been time for training. They had gone mostly by instinct and if Harry is being honest with himself he's not sure how they managed to survive, let alone be successful. For some reason, though, they had worked as a team, mismatched as they were.

Harry's decision to put them through training now, so they can be integrated into the Auror Corps, hadn’t been an easy one, but if the Wizarding World is ever going to believe that they are heading for peace, their law-enforcers can't have untrained, undisciplined guerilla fighters in their ranks.

“Did you ever regret it?”

The letters appear on the page in neat handwriting and Harry stares at them until they vanish again. Suddenly he is very awake.

“Which part?” He writes back, heart pounding. He realizes that he hadn't prepared himself for Draco replying, at least not emotionally.

“Standing by my side.” Comes the instant reply.

“A few times.” Harry finally writes, knowing that the Horcrux will be able to tell if he writes something untrue. “But not enough to give up on you.”

“I think I need your help again.”

The words doesn't stay long, almost like Draco regrets them, but they brand their way into Harry in a way that hurts.

"I will. I just need to figure out how." Harry writes, looking at his wrist watch. "I need to go to work. I'll check in later." 

Draco doesn't reply so Harry closes the book and sits staring at the cover for a minute before Apparating to the Ministry, his Porridge forgotten.

  

When he returns home from his afternoon classes Harry brings Draco's Book to the kitchen and tries something new.

“Draco?” He writes and waits as the ink dissolves and is absorbed into the page. It takes a while, but then words appear and Harry can feel his pulse speeding up.

“Tell me about their funeral.” Draco writes back and Harry has to let out a sigh.

“I didn't go, sorry.” Harry writes.

“Why not?”

There are many obvious reasons, but Harry chooses the least hurtful one. “Andromeda went, I took Teddy for the day.”

“Oh.” is all Draco writes back and Harry gets up to pour himself a new mug of tea. When he sits down to write again, it's with chocolate éclairs and a plan.

“I can't give you the memory of their funeral.” He writes in the book. “But I can give you something else.”

 

>  
> 
>   _August 28 th 1999_
> 
> The café is small and cozy, not at all a place Harry would expect someone like Narcissa Malfoy to request meeting. It's a Muggle café, though, which might be the only place that would serve her, even a year after the war. Even escorted by Harry Potter.
> 
> The waiter brings them their tea and Harry can't help but feel that the cup is too small.
> 
> “I heard the M2s have been a success so far.” Is the first thing Narcissa says and Harry is taken off guard, because if he didn't know better it would sound like she was genuinely interested in Harry's life.
> 
> He plays along. “We were needed. I'm not sure that the case any more. I doubt many of us plan on sticking around, now that things have slowed down. ”
> 
> “You will, though.” Narcissa says and sips her tea. “Saving people is who you are.”
> 
> “I don't think that's true.” Harry says, still looking at his tea. It _is_ true, though.
> 
> “You and Draco became friends over the last year.” She says and Harry realises that she's working up to it, what ever it is she needs to ask of him. She's trying to find the right angle of approach.
> 
> “You think so?” He asks and finally lifts his eyes, just to see her reaction. It's just a small, soft smile.
> 
> “According to Draco.” She says.
> 
> “Draco lies.”
> 
> “Not to his mother.” Narcissa says, as if Draco's mother is a person separate from her. Harry wonders if she ever wishes that was true. If she wishes that Draco had been raised by someone who hadn't tried to make him into a killer.
> 
> “I went to visit his new flat. It's nicer than I had expected from a Muggle place. And he can walk to work.” She says proudly.
> 
> She should be proud, Harry thinks. Draco has an aptitude for curse breaking, which is rather lucky, because the goblins in Gringotts might just be the only ones in the magical world who doesn't care one shred about his past and they had accepted Draco into their curse breaker program as soon as the restrictions on his magic had been lifted.
> 
> Not that Draco spent the time before that idly. He may have been placed under strict supervision while he completed his rehabilitation on Hogwarts grounds, but Draco spend the time working hard to make up for his mistakes. No one made him do any of that; Harry knows, because he had been the one to negotiate the terms of Draco's sentence.
> 
> “What can I help you with, Mrs. Malfoy?” Harry asks, giving Narcissa's face a proper look. She looks healthier than she did under the war, much better than she did during the trails, where she had just spent a month in Azkaban. These days she and her husband lives in the Manor, maybe hoping that as long as they keep to themselves, people aren't reminded how they got off with a slap on the wrist. Harry isn't sure if it's really that much better than a cell in Azkaban, tbough, because instead of Dementors breathing down their necks, they have ghosts and echoes of nightmares.
> 
> “I want to know if your new friendship with my son means anything to you” Narcissa says and for a moment the plead in her eyes reminds Harry of his own mother, begging for mercy. “I'm soon going to need a champion to fight our cause and I know your name still holds power with the rest of the Wizarding World.”
> 
> “You were pardoned.” Harry says, wondering for just a moment if that is the right word for what the Malfoys had been.
> 
> “Not by the people.” Narcissa reminds him. “Draco – He's not safe. None of us are. My sister -” She continues and for a horrible moment Harry thinks she's going to talk about Bellatrix, but then he remembers that Andromeda is also her sister and he relaxes. “-says that I should leave the Manor and come stay with her.”
> 
> This takes Harry by surprise. There is no way Andromeda would allow Lucius near Teddy, Harry is sure of it. Which can only mean that he isn't invited along.
> 
> “I guess it's hard to live alone in that large house.” Harry says conversationally, taking a sip of his tea.
> 
> “I have Lucius, I don't live alone.”
> 
> “Yes you do.” It comes out harsher than Harry intended and he tries to soften his voice. “You're considering your sister's offer, aren't you? Which means you're ready to leave. Leave the Manor, leave your husband.”
> 
> Harry wonders at how easy it's become for him to pick people apart and analyse their intents. Maybe he's learned it from work, maybe he's learned it from living with Draco Malfoy for a year. He could have been a Slytherin, Harry reminds himself. Maybe he's spent the past year becoming one.
> 
> “You are very perceptive.” Narcissa says quietly and sits back in the chair as the waiter comes up to hand them the cheque. Harry takes it before Narcissa can reach for it.
> 
> “If you think people still want to hurt you,” Harry says and pays the bill with a nod to the waiter. “You'd be putting my Godson and your sister in danger by living with them.”
> 
> “I know.” She says, not taking her eyes off him. They are the same shape as Draco's eyes, Harry notices. “Which is why I'm still living with the ghosts.”
> 
> “And your husband.”
> 
> “As I said,” She gets to her feet with a graceful motion. “Ghosts.”
> 
> Harry watches as she walks away.
> 
> That is the last time Harry sees Narcissa Malfoy.
> 
>   

Pushing down his own discomfort at the subject, he tries to remember the details.

The 1st of September had been a lovely summer's day and Harry had been visiting Andromeda and Teddy. He still remembers the calm and contentment he felt sitting there with a sleeping Teddy against his chest, fingers closed around a glass of lemonade and Andromeda talking about the pros and cons of getting a Crup when Teddy was this young.

Harry remembers the feel of the sun on his skin and the sound of a bee zooming by.

Slowly he continues to fill the empty pages.

 

>  
> 
> _September 1 st 1999_
> 
> A Muggle finds Narcissa's charred remains a few days after Harry had seen her walk away from the Café. The Aurors are called to the site, because the body has been tied to a stake and burned on a pyre. Next to the gruesome display stands a memorial stone.
> 
> _Justice,_ the letters say, carved deep into the granite.
> 
> Andromeda breaks down in tears, right there on the green lawn with birds chirping and children laughing in the garden two houses over.
> 
> Harry doesn't know what to do with himself. He looks down on Teddy, who's still asleep on his lap and gently he sifts around to place the boy in the chair without waking him. He goes to his knees in front of Andromeda and wraps his arms around her, cradles her shaking body and rocks her the way Hermione once did for him, right after the trails, when Harry had his breakdown.
> 
> The Ministry Official who brought them the news seems uncomfortable and Harry realizes that the middle-aged man probably hadn't expected tears shed for a former Death Eater.
> 
> After a short, loud and mostly one-sided conversation with the Wizard Harry begins to understand that not only did they not expect tears for Narcissa Malfoy, they also didn't plan on doing much to catch her killers.
> 
> “I can't believe this.” Harry says, feeling himself losing his temper. “They're not even trying to find out who did this!”
> 
> Teddy has been put to bed and Harry is pacing Andromeda's kitchen floor. She stopped weeping hours ago and now her eyes are distant and her face calm.
> 
> “Why did you decide to become an Auror?” Andromeda suddenly asks and for a moment Harry is too thrown off balance by the question to answer. Andromeda continues. “Nymphadora became an Auror because she wanted to do something good. Because she wanted to bring justice.”
> 
> “This had nothing to do with _justice_.” Harry says, feeling something cold settle in his chest.
> 
> “Nymphadora was just a little girl during Voldemort's first reign.” Andromeda says, ignoring Harry's words. “She never knew the horror; the constant, sickening fear. That's why she didn't understand that justice can sometimes be ugly and painful. You, I think, know better.”
> 
> “You think your sister deserved this?” Harry says, too shocked to raise his voice.
> 
> “Of course not. But I wasn't the one wronged by her.”
> 
> Harry tries to understand, even though he knows he's not going to. It's not in his nature to be vengeful. The man who betrayed his parents was a snivelling, pathetic rat and Harry had never felt any pity for him, except he did at the end, when the life had been choked out of Peter. Wormtail is dead, but it doesn't feel remotely like Harry's parents got their justice.


	15. September 30

Wednesday after work Harry finally takes Buckbeak out for a flight. If anyone found out about their trips he would probably get a fine or maybe even be suspended from his job, but Harry knows well enough how to avoid Muggle eyes and Buckbeak really needs the exercise.

It's the first clear day in a while and they make it all the way down to Surrey Hills before Buckbeak needs to rest. Harry lets the Hippogriff lounge in a grassy patch of afternoon sun, while he wards off the area from any Muggles that might be out here. Thanks to Hermione he knows some pretty good Masking and Muggle-Repelling Charms by now.

As soon as he joins Buckbeak in the sun the Hippogriff pokes at Harry's backpack with it's sharp talons and Harry has to quickly surrender the Rabbit he's brought or risk having to magically mend the backpack. You'd think that with his line of work he would have learned how to mend fabric, Merlin knows he has ripped enough of his clothes on missions, but he still can't get it right. As hard as he tries there's always a small mark.

He pulls out a ham and cheese sandwich for himself and then takes out Draco's Book. Buckbeak stops ripping up the Rabbit carcass to give the book a malcontent screech and Harry can't shake the feeling that Buckbeak knows who's inside the book. The thought is encouraging, because if even Buckbeak can recognise Draco, then it must mean that Harry isn't fooling himself on that count.

“You know, he's not as horrible as you remember.” Harry tells Buckbeak over the crunch of rabbit spine being shattered. “He actually managed to be an almost tolerable human being. When he wanted to.” Harry adds when Buckbeak gives him a sceptical glance.

The look of utter horror and pain on Draco's face when Buckbeak ripped his arm in their third year still gives Harry a small surge of enjoyment. Draco might have fought hard to become a better person, but he wasn't always and Harry hasn't forgotten, isn't going to forget, even if he has long since accepted that Draco isn't that same boy.

Conjuring a self-inking quill, Harry opens the book on a random page. Yesterday he had given Draco's Book a memory from a month ago when Narcissa had been killed. Today he is giving a very different memory from exactly one year before that day.

> _September 2 nd 1998_
> 
> Malfoy doesn't kill him the first night while Harry is asleep. Or the second night, or the third. Not that he had actually expected Malfoy to be that stupid or cruel or petty.
> 
> In fact, when Harry wakes up on the first day of the new term, Malfoy isn't even there.
> 
> Harry goes to the bathroom before he dresses in his new school robes, with the Hogwarts emblem where his red and gold Gryffindor badge used to be. It will take some getting used to, Harry thinks, a sentiment he apparently shares with most of his other returning classmates, if the way they are grouped up in the common room is anything to go by.
> 
> Everyone is sitting around with their old houses and looking at what turns out to be their new schedules. When he joins them, Hermione hands Harry his own class schedule and in lieu of a greeting says, “The exit is locked.”
> 
> “It better open soon, I'm starving.” Ron says.
> 
> “Honestly, this is just silly.” Hermione says, dropping her heavy school bag in front of Harry's toes, disappearing through the door to hers and Lisa Turpin's room. She returns three minutes later and picks up her bag.
> 
> “I send my Patronus to Professor McGonagall.” She explains and not for the first time, Harry is reminded that they aren't just a bunch of seventh years, studying for their NEWT's. All of them have already dealt with very advanced magic and most of them are well versed in the practical application of spells and knowledge that eighteen-year-olds wouldn't have had access to under normal circumstances.
> 
> Sending off ones Corporal Patronus to signal someone else, by all rights, should have gotten some kind of reaction, Harry thinks, but looking around his fellow students tells him that it's going to take a lot more than that to shake them out of their morning stupor.
> 
> Harry's eyes land on Malfoy, who is occupying a plush chair in front of the fire, Blaise Zabini casually perched on one armrest. Sally-Anne Perks and Milicent Bullstrode have commandeered a chair right next to Malfoy's.
> 
> Pansy Parkinson, Harry knows, came back for her NEWT's during the Summer exams, and while neither Goyle or Nott has been given actual prison sentences, they have both been disallowed to continue their education as well as having a permanent proxy-Trace on their magic.
> 
> The four returning Slytherins are not people Harry has seen interacting a lot during their time at Hogwarts, but now they seem to have found each other in some form of self-preservation.
> 
> “It's a wonder you survived the night.” Harry hears Kevin Entwhistle tell Padma Patil, who shares a room with Milicent Bullstrode. It's probably meant as a jest, but Padma doesn’t smile and Harry, who has his eyes on Malfoy when the comment falls, can see the slight twitch in his shoulders.
> 
> “Don't say that.” Susan Bones scolds from across the room where she is sitting with the rest of the old Hufflepuffs around a low, round table. “We're supposed to mend, not pour salt in the wound.”
> 
> “But come on,” Michael Corner says, backing up his Ravenclaw friend. “Look at us. No one is even trying.”
> 
> Harry looks around at the four groups of people and he can almost see their House colours in the way they holds themselves, in the way they look or _don't_ look at the other groups.
> 
> “Oi, Zabini.” Neville says, getting to his feet. “Since we're stuck anyway, how about we switch beds now, like you said. I really want to unpack and find the seeds I brought for Professor Sprout, but I don't fancy moving it all twice.” Neville is walking towards his and Blaise Zabini's room as he talks and as he disappears from view – still talking - the dark boy slides off Malfoy's armrest with a sigh and goes to follow Neville.
> 
> “Well., if you really don't mind taking the window side.” Harry hears Zabini say and bless Neville and his Gryffindor courage.
> 
> Around the room, people seem to follow Neville's lead and seek out their respective new room mates for a bit of casual conversation or, in some cases, forced niceties. It's a start, though and Harry can feel a bit of the tension in the room draining away.
> 
> Harry takes a steeling breath before he walks over to where Malfoy is sitting by the fireplace, reading. He is almost half way into the assigned book for their new NEWT class Curse Breaking.
> 
> Even with Voldemort gone and the curse he placed on the Defence Against the Dark Arts' teaching position theoretically broken, McGonagall had taken no chances with her new staff. Instead she had removed Defence from the curriculum and replaced it with two new classes. Duel Techniques as a mandatory class for all students and Curse Breaking as an elective class for the NEWT students.
> 
> Malfoy takes his eyes off the book just long enough to give Harry a sceptical glance.
> 
> “You don't have to force yourself.” He says. “I think we can both agree we'll get through this year a lot smoother if we just strive to ignore each other as much as possible.” And then he goes back to reading his book.
> 
> That is probably the politest Malfoy has ever been to him, including their first encounters before Harry had turned down Malfoy's friendship. But ignoring each other is the Slytherin solution and as tempting as it is, it's just not in Harry's nature to hide.
> 
> Instead he settles on the floor facing Malfoy with his legs stretched and the soles of his shoes pressed against the front of Malfoy's arm chair. Malfoy, apparently forgoing all his manners out of sheer surprise, spreads his legs slightly apart to accommodate Harry's imposing feet, giving Harry a clear view of Malfoy's crotch. Harry assumes, at least, it's unwittingly.
> 
> “Is that why you were gone this morning?” Harry asks, leaning back on his elbows so he's no longer eye level with Malfoy's crotch. “Or do you always get up that early?”
> 
> “Still keeping an eye on me, Potter?” Malfoy drawls and for a few seconds his face is lit with a hint of his old brattish smirk, before he manages to school it away in favour of the blank mask he's been wearing ever since Harry saw him board the Hogwarts Express yesterday.
> 
> “Yes.” Harry answers truthfully, because that is in fact part of his job now and there's no point in pretending differently, even if Malfoy looks like he would like nothing better.
> 
> “Look,” Harry says and pushes himself back up on his hands, hoping that Malfoy won't accuse him of starring now that he's once more eye level with his crotch. “We both have double potions after breakfast. Hermione and Ron are both in the other NEWT Potions class and I could really use a good lab partner if I'm going to have any chance of passing my exams.”
> 
> “Did you lose your cheat-book?” Malfoy says, eyebrows rising and he finally – finally – crosses one leg over the other.
> 
> “Yes.” Harry simply admits and Malfoy lets out a slightly amused huff of air.
> 
> “Too bad.” He says and then waits so long that Harry assumes the conversation is over, before finally adding, “I guess we'll have to stick to the standard instructions, then.”
> 
> Harry's eyes snap back to look at Malfoy, but Malfoy's eyes are firmly locked on his book and he looks as though he's sure agreeing to be Harry's lab partner is something he's going to regret dearly.
> 
> “I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart, mind you.” Malfoy says as an embarrassed-looking Flickwick opens the door to the common room.
> 
> “Of course not.” Harry agrees and gets to his feet.
> 
> “Slughorn hates me, but he seems to be positively salivating over you.” Malfoy pushes himself out of the chair and grabs his messenger bag from the floor, cramming the book he was reading into the heap of books inside. As an afterthought he picks up Zabini's' canvas knapsack as well, slinging one strap over his shoulder. “Get me on his good side and I'll make sure you won't get blown up.”
> 
> Harry does get blown up. But not until six months later and not during potions.


	16. October 1

Thursday after lunch Lisa comes to his office with a very large stack of files, letting them drop down on Harry's desk. He gives her a sceptical look that she ignores. “What is this?”

“A hunch.” She says with a twisted little smile that Harry has already come to fear. “So, you know how the memories of those two Muggle boys were really crappy quality, which can be expected. Who ever erased them was really good at it. Well, I set up a Damien Code anyway, you know, to match the faces in the memory with pictures of a bunch of Witches and Wizards who lost someone in the war, because that is the common theory, right?”

Harry nods, trying not to look too impressed that she had gotten that spell to work. Harry never can, but then he never took Arithmancy and hasn't done much since to get to understand the finer workings of numbers. All he knows is that it takes some damn delicate spell work and tons of patience.

“As you can imagine, that was quite a lot of people, so I've had the spell running for a couple of days, but nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nada. Zilch. Zip. Love.”

“So we're back to square one.”

“Not quite.” She says, holding up a finger. “Assuming that the ones who burned Narcissa Malfoy were also the ones who killed her-”

“Assuming.”

“-And that those people _weren’t_ vengeance-crazed murders-”

“-Or an emotional flock of people who lost loved ones and got carried away.” Harry amends.

“-I have gathered a short list of possible suspects that I ran against the restored memories.”

“A _short_ list?” Harry picks up the file on top of the large stack. It has an unmistakable red stamp across the name tag. “Wait, these are all-”

“Deceased. I know.” Lisa says, her smile growing wider. “Most of these are M2 cases, by the way. From the past three months since we left Hogwarts.”

“We didn't kill this many people!” Harry protests, feeling fairly certain it's the truth.

“Of course we didn't. They're all suicides.” Lisa says and starts moving the files from the pile into another pile next to it. “Torture, murder, murder, Imperious, abuse of Muggles – several counts, murder, murder _and_ rape – several counts, possession and brewing of dangerous potions.”

“What made you run our cases through the Damien Code?”

“As I said, a hunch.”

“So what you're saying is that Narcissa Malfoy wasn't killed by an angry mob, she was killed by angry Dark Wizards?”

“But why, though?” Lisa says, dumping the file she was holding unto the table with extra force.

“Rat leaving a sinking ship?” Harry says, remembering Narcissa and Lucius running through the rubble at The Battle, not helping either side, just looking for their son.

“Well, if she knew something,” Lisa says with a small frown. “maybe they didn't want to risk her talking to us.”

Could Narcissa had known something?

Harry thinks about Narcissa, asking to meet him at a Café in Muggle London. He had thought it was because no one else would serve her, but what if it had been because it was the only place she could be sure no one would see her meeting with an Auror. Especially not Dark Wizards, who'd never think to set foot among Muggles. Maybe that was why she'd stayed at the Manor; Not because she was scared or ashamed to show her face in public, but because she had been keeping up a façade while spying on these people.

“You're bloody brilliant.” Harry says, cupping Lisa's cheeks.

“I am!” Lisa says seriously. “Tell me again why?”

“Don't you see? No one cares about Narcissa Malfoy or her death, not really. Even with the restored memories, they're never going to let me re-open her case; not to prove that Death Eaters killed another Death Eater for stabbing them in the back.”

“So why are we celebrating?”

“Because it's connected, don't you see? All these people in these files. They kill themselves before we can get to them, they're desperate _not_ to get caught and interrogated. That means they're up to something they don't want us to find.”

“Sounds plausible.”

“But what if she was trying to bring them down? What if she had evidence and they somehow found out she'd betray them.” It sounds far fetched even in Harry's own ears. Nacissa Malfoy was hardly brave. She had been pardoned because she, at the very end, had cared more about saving her son than about the wrath of Voldemort, but other than that Narcissa had shown very little courage. Trying to infiltrate and take down a ring of Death Eaters and Voldemort Supporters, up to Merlin knows what, did not seem like a thing she would do.

“Well that would certainly give us a reason to re-open her case, but Harry, there's no way we can prove anything if they're all dead.”

“You're right.” Harry says, feeling himself deflating a little, even though his blood is still pumping. “But maybe she left some kind of proof at Malfoy Manor.”

“We can't go to Wiltshire, Harry. We'd have ask for a Port Key to get there and people would ask questions.”

“Or we could just Floo.” Harry says with a smile. “I do own the place.”

Harry isn't sure what he was expecting.

Malfoy Manor is dark and cold, but there is no dust on the shelves, not a grain of dirt on the floors. Everything is impeccable and as grand as Harry remembers. They walk the halls with their wands raised, but of course no one comes at them, because all the rooms are empty and the Manor carefully guarded by ancient spells. It really is a fortress.

Going by memory from when they searched the place right after Voldemort's defeat, Harry leads them to the kitchens. They are greeted by a swish of movement and frightened squeals as the House-elves skitter out of sight.

“It's okay.” Harry says. “We're just here to look around.”

“We beg the Master's forgiveness.” A small elf says, sticking her head out from behind the curtains. “We be alone for so long, we was not expecting any Masters. Especially not in the kitchens.”

“It's okay.” Harry says, trying to sound appeasing, but not too kind, because that might make the House-elf uncomfortable. “We've had a really hard day, maybe you could make us some tea?”

“Master, of course.” The little elf says and bows.

“We'll just take a look around. Come find us when it's ready.”

“I thought you'd be against using House-elf labour,” Lisa says as they leave the kitchen. “being friends with Hermione and all that.”

“House-elves like to feel needed.” Harry says with a shrug. He knows Hermione's view on House-elves, but he also knows House-elves' view on Wizards. “If we go around telling these elves to be free, they might get mad. If we get on their good side they are more likely to help us.”

“How cunning. I don't remember you being in Slytherin.” Lisa says and Harry gives her a smile.

They take the stairs to the first floor, poking their wands and heads into every room they pass. By the end of the hall they find a master bedroom, bed made, with sharp corners and freshly fluffed pillows. On one side of the room stands an old fashioned vanity with mirror and matching stool.

“You think she kept her secrets in there?” Lisa asks and goes to pull out the drawers.

“I don't think she'd keep anything where Lucius could find it.” Harry says with a frown. “They weren't exactly on good terms at the time.”

There's a soft plop and the House-elf from before appears. “For Master and honoured guest.” She says.

Harry takes both cups from her plate and the elf bows before disappearing again. Harry hands one to Lisa and they leave the bedroom.

“Harry, this case.” Lisa says and frankly Harry had been waiting for her to breach the subject. “It's about Draco, isn't it?”

“It's about catching bad guys. That's what we do.”

“It's just - I remember the Christmas break-”

“Lisa.”

“All I'm saying is that, if you had asked me a year ago - I don't think anyone would have put a single Sickle on Draco Malfoy being able to play nice and behave. You did that.”

“He did that on his own.”

“He did that because of you. We all saw.” She doesn't push for the conversation to continue and Harry realizes that she hadn't been fishing for answers at all. She had just wanted him to know that she understood.

After two hours they've still haven't found anything.

“I'm sorry, Harry,” Lisa says as they walk back to the fireplace in the foyer. “Looks like it was a dead end.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Harry says, sending one last glance up the stairs. “Maybe I'll come back when the light is better.”

“I'll keep working on those suicide cases, okay? If you _were_ right, then we should at least do our best to bring these bastards to justice. Make sure she didn't die for nothing.”

Harry nods and watches as Lisa Floos to her flat. He takes a pinch of Floo Powder and throwing it into the fire, says “Number twelve Grimmauld Place, London” loudly and steps into the green flames. He pops out in the kitchen in Grimmauld Place and is met by toasty heat and the smell of roast chicken. Kreacher greets him with a court “Master” and Harry can't help but think, that for someone who's best friend is the once-founder of the House-elf Liberation Front, he sure does have a lot of enslaved House-elves these days.

He considers taking a shower, but instead he sits down at the kitchen table with Draco's Book and runs his fingers gently over the leather surface. Too gently, Harry thinks, considering what it actually is. That's not a notion he cares about exploring further, though, instead opening the book on a random page.

There are no words for him today, the shard of Draco's soul staying unresponsive even after Harry writes a "Draco?" into it. The first time Draco had reached out to him Harry had felt a rush of relief, of excitement even, and he had forgotten all about questioning Draco about what happened to him and his father, hadn't even thought to ask him about Narcissa's murder. It seems like even the short exchange of words they had shared Tuesday had been too much for Draco and Harry knows he will probably have to feed the book more of himself in order to get another response or even a longer conversation. 

For now he picks a memory and puts his quill to the page.

  

 

> October 7th 1998
> 
> Meals turn out to be the the thing that takes the most getting used to.
> 
> It's not that Harry miss trying to eat while people are staring at him, awestruck or googly-eyed, but the space around their new table is limited to only barely fit them all. In the beginning they all sit separated by their old Houses, but after the first month they start to just drift down to breakfast with their respective room mates and settle for lunch with who ever they just had classes with.
> 
> On the seventh of October Harry sits down with the rest of his Potions class for lunch, Malfoy, Zabini, Megan Jones and the Patil-twins. Their class had ended early because one of the regular seventh year students exploded a cauldron and had to be taken to the Hospital Wing for detox and instead of going all the way up to their common room they had come here, without really agreeing on it.
> 
> Michael Corner comes in from Care for Magical Creatures at about the same time and joins Pavati and Padma in a conversation about misuse of Dreamless Sleep potions. Harry is surprising himself by trying to explain to Zabini and Megan Jones where the two might have gone wrong with their Aggravation Dampening potion.
> 
> Malfoy doesn't get involved in the conversation, even if he'd have a much better chance of remembering the right way to brew the potion. He actually rarely joins in with anything. It's not that he's isolating himself and he doesn't seem to be looking down his nose at the rest of them. He just chooses not to participate when there are people from other houses present, the only exception being Harry, but only because they are lab partners and share a dorm room. Their conversations consists mostly of Malfoy telling Harry to please keep his side of the room more tidy and whether or not it's okay to open the window for a few minutes. (Usually, though, his choice of words aren't that polite.)
> 
> Hermione seems to have noticed too.
> 
> “I really do think he's trying.” She says and scribbles down a few notes from the book she's reading. They are sitting out by the lake at the place Harry has come to consider their spot. “Sometimes I think he wants to join in, but- well, it seems like he's afraid.”
> 
> “Of talking to people?”
> 
> “Of insulting them.”
> 
> “That's bollocks.” Ron says, looking up from his own book. “I mean, it's not like he's going to open his mouth and Death Eater propaganda will just fall out against his will. He's supposed to be changed an' all that. Conformed. If he still believes those things, then maybe he shouldn't be here.”
> 
> “It's not that he still believes, Ron.” Hermione marks up her page and shuts the book. “But imagine realizing that most of what you've been taught your entire life is wrong and harmful and – and _misguided_. How do you separate? How do you know which things are okay and which things are potentially hurtful to other people?”
> 
> Harry thinks about her words for a minute, eyes skimming across the sun ripples in the calm lake-water. “You think he's trying to change?”
> 
> “I don't know. Maybe `adapt´ is a better word for what a Slytherin does. Malfoy is always going to be Malfoy, isn't he? He's not going to be any less of a rich, spoiled pure-blood. But I think he's realised that there are other things that matter more than blood status.”
> 
> When dinner comes around Harry sits down between Susan Bones and Draco Malfoy. Malfoy stiffens up and looks at Harry with ridiculously wide eyes and for a second Harry almost laughs. If he had known it was this easy to throw Malfoy off balance he would have done it years ago.
> 
> “Something the matter?” Harry asks, scooping lasagne onto his plate. He folds his face into something more concerned, because Malfoy looks like someone who might bolt if given any more reason to. “You can't share a meal with me?”
> 
> He can almost see the inner turmoil and decides to give Malfoy a moment to sort himself out, instead taking a fork-full of lasagne into his mouth.
> 
> “Honestly, Potter, I can't see why you'd want to. We already share just about everything else, apart from our pants.”
> 
> Next to Harry Susan Bones chokes on her food and starts coughing. Harry gently pads her between her shoulder blades.
> 
> “Then it shouldn't be a problem.” He says, side-eyeing Malfoy as he takes another bite of lasagne. Malfoy narrows his eyes but keeps his mouth shut until the – undoubtedly – long string of swearwords and insults have cleared out of his head and he is able to force out something close to a proper answer.
> 
> “I guess it shouldn't.” Malfoy says in the end and that is how Harry and Malfoy end up sitting next to each other for every meal for the rest of the year, out of something as childish as spite.
> 
> Harry would later admit that he had come to enjoy sitting next to Malfoy because Malfoy took most of the focus and the younger students wasn't staring as much at Harry when he and Malfoy were next to each other. Malfoy would admit that he liked sitting next to Harry, because it seemed to piss some people off.
> 
> It was about that time Harry started referring to Malfoy as Draco inside his head.


	17. October 2

Friday Harry leaves work late. He's spend most of the day going through the mess in Norwich from that Monday, categorizing dark artefacts. There is also a rather long list of potions ingredients, most of which Harry's never even heard off during his time at Hogwarts, or maybe he just hadn't been paying enough attention. Without a second thought he passes the job of categorizing their origin and use to Michael, who besides being the other Auror on the case, also happens to be the team's potions expert.

The team is very well structured in that way. They all have different strengths, both in the office and in the field and they all compliment each other in a way that Harry had not even hoped for when the team was first formed.

Michael is their potions and rare ingredients expert, and even though he's not as big of a Herbologi nerd as Neville, the two can still get into some very theoretic conversations. Neville, however, has the added talent of being able to explain things to Harry with out giving him an headache. Neville does a lot of things very well, but being Harry's second in command and his rock, is the thing Harry most appreciates him for.

Apart from being their interpreter and eyes and ears on Level 3 (Department of International Magical Cooperation) Justin is their expert on all things old. Harry had never thought he'd ever meet another student who knew _Hogwarts: A History_ as well as Hermione, but Justin just might give her a run for her money.

Susan is not only an excellent people person, but also their go-to person on all legal matters as well as their liaison with the other branches of Magical Law Enforcement, where everyone still sees her as Amelia Bones' niece.

Lastly there is Lisa, who is miles ahead of any of them when it comes to delicate and sometimes slightly experimental spellwork, and Harry thinks that if she'd ever chose to leave M2 she could have a bright career as an Unspeakable.

Harry counts himself as their expert on Dark Magic. During their last year at Hogwarts Draco had made it into a hobby to unravel and lift dark curses, to pick at the deceptive cob-webs that could make even the most ordinary item into a death trap. Harry never asked where Draco had gotten the interest from - maybe because he already felt that he had a decent idea – instead agreeing to help Draco train.

The restrictions on Draco's magic meant that he was unable to cast anything that qualified as Dark Magic. Instead Harry had, after heavy persuasion and a long debate about the moral behind it with Hermione, agreed to cast a variety of dark curses on items in their Dorm Room, so Draco could work on lifting them.

It had been a disturbing experience at first, digging through books filled with horrible pictures of suffering people, and the process of learning to cast them had been equally disturbing. But in the end his adventures into Dark Magic had taught him several reliable ways to recognize, stop and slow down the spread of dark curses and ultimately helped Draco get an internship at Gringotts.

When he arrives in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place by Floo Harry finds his dinner waiting in the fridge, cold but still delicious and he takes the plate of glazed ham, baby carrots and mash to his Study to work on Narcissa's case.

After spending a few stolen hours today looking through the Suicide Cases Lisa had brought him Harry is confident that this angle is going to be their opening. Even without answers from Draco's Book they are going to get the leads they need, they are going to solve this whole damn mess and be big bloody heroes, Harry has no doubt. Draco's side of things, despite how badly Harry wants it, isn't exactly necessary at this point.

Absentmindedly Harry picks Draco's Book up from under a stack of papers and flips through the blank pages.

He should feel relieved that he can stop writing in the book, but in truth, Harry just feels guilty, has ever since Draco had reached out to him from the pages, scared and lost. Harry's goal had always been clear, to solve the case and get justice for the Malfoys. He had toyed with the idea, sitting in St. Mungo's, to somehow find a way to get the shard of Draco's soul back into his body, but even then it had been more of a way to comfort himself, than an actual possibility.

Being handed the book, going to the hospital, having Draco respond. It's been an emotional roller coaster and Harry needs to clear his head of silly dreams and concentrate on this case, concentrate of what he can actually fix.

It only takes one word, though, for Harry's heart to speed up, for him to throw good reason out the window.

“Potter?” Draco writes.

“Draco.”

“Is this real?”

Harry has a flash of a white room, the feeling of being at peace. “Of course it is happening inside your head,” Dumbledore had said, “but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

“I'm afraid so.” Harry writes back. “Do you remember anything about what happened to you?”

“I remember enough.” And then words are rushing to the surface of the page, lines upon lines of text, as if Draco had written it in advance. Harry has to remind himself that Draco isn't really writing. He _is_ the book and the words are the very being of him.

>   
> 
> _September 1 st 1999._
> 
> Draco doesn't hear about Mother until hours after she had been found. He is doing the dishes when there's a familiar plop of Apparition from the bedroom-slash-living room and he finds an Auror standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable.
> 
> “You don't have a fireplace.” Is the first thing the Auror says, instead of giving a damn apology for showing up unannounced in Draco's home.
> 
> “This is Muggle London.” Draco reminds him, drying the inside of his glass with a towel. It's not that he's not allowed to use magic, thank fuck, but after blowing five fuses on his first week here, he had decided to tone it down a bit so he wouldn't fry the building's electrical system.
> 
> “Which brings me to my first question,” Draco continues. “What the sodded hell are you doing in my flat?”
> 
> The Auror blinks a few times and Draco isn't sure if it's because he's still slightly stunned by the small size of Draco's flat or if he's just not very bright.
> 
> “I'm here with bad news.” The Auror says then and Draco has about five seconds where his mind relives the trials and the legal work that followed, it skips to his NEWT's that might look suspiciously good to someone who didn't know how damn hard Draco had struggled to earn them, to his new internship at Gringotts. If someone was going to bring Draco bad news they'd have plenty of possibilities and he probably should be used to it by now. Should be used to having things taken from him.
> 
> Usually, though, people look a lot more pleased when they do.
> 
> “It's about your mother.” The Auror says next and Draco's mind blanks up as the Auror tells him that Narcissa Malfoy is dead.
> 
> He has to work to breathe, to blink, to keep on his feet. He's aware that his throat is closing up and his chest seems too small for the pain building inside, but he's not aware that his magic is out of control until the lamp above his head goes out with a small plop. Then all electricity in the whole building goes out and there are loud complaints from the man downstairs, about missing the _bloody_ game.
> 
> “They found her dead this morning.”
> 
> “This morning?” Draco echoes and then his world snaps back into focus. He stares down the Auror. “You mean to tell me that my mother died this morning and you haven't taken the time to come tell me until now?”
> 
> “There were circumstances.” The Auror blurts out, looking taken aback by Draco's sudden change. “We had to investigate first, examine the body.”
> 
> “And what did you find?” Draco demands, more snarl than he's ever thrown into his voice before.
> 
> “She was murdered.” The Auror is clutching his wand, Draco realizes, and he's not really that surprised. Honestly, Draco is more surprised he had the balls to come here alone, to the home of a former Death Eater to give the news that the only person Draco loves has been killed.
> 
> Of course the Auror probably hadn't known that Draco would care. How could someone who had stood by and watched the Dark Lord torture people, watched werewolves shred the living, watched children be murdered to make their parents talk, how could someone like that even still have the ability to care?
> 
> Draco wishes he didn't. Merlin, how he wishes it, but the swirling grief in is chest doesn't go away.
> 
> “Leave.” Is all he can think to say and the Auror doesn't seem inclined to argue. The _crack_ is instant and Draco lets himself slide to his knees as the sobs starts to shake his body. He wills himself to shake apart, but he only manages to get halfway there, a ruined mess on the floor, but still breathing.
> 
> Just half an hour later his father, looking paler and more broken than Draco had ever seen him before, even during the Dark Lord's reign, appears in Draco's flat.
> 
> Draco had spend the past year rebuilding Draco Malfoy.
> 
> It had been a slow and infuriating process, mostly because – as it turned out – there were so many faults in Draco's world image. He would listen attentively to Hufflepuffs praising other's work while they never, ever gave up on their own. He'd watch as Ravenclaws would study for hours in dusty books, but didn't seem to mind one bit about sharing their hard sought knowledge with others. And then there were the Gryffindors.
> 
> He'd listen when Dean Thomas talked about his `mum´ and his sisters with the biggest smile, not caring one bit that they didn't have a shred of magic. By the way Thomas would talk about them you would think they were the most magical thing in the world.
> 
> He'd listen to Granger and her SPEW crap, how it slowly turned in to BABLE – Beast and Being's Legal Entrustment. Draco wondered if he should be caring about Vampire's rights, found that most of the other student's didn't and decided he didn't have to, either.
> 
> He'd listen to Potter. Intently. But Draco already knew what Potter was about. He was all about saving the world, about makeshift family and lost causes and Draco knew that being like Potter wasn't going to necessarily make him a better person in the eyes of the Wizarding world. More likely it would just get him dead and Draco had to accept, even though they were supposed to be grown-ups with no House affiliations, that he was just too much of a Slytherin to sacrifice himself like that.
> 
> In the end he had to think about what he wanted to be and what he didn't want to be.
> 
> _Love for Mother_ , gets to stay. _Hating muggle-borns_ , has to go. _Wanting to be better than everyone else_ , up for debate. _Father_ , no.
> 
> He knows how wrong Lucius has been and how cruel he can be, knows deep down that his father will never change.
> 
> Still, when Lucius tells him to run, Draco runs.

The text fades away and Harry turns a page, stupidly looking for more of the story, but it doesn't come. It occurs to Harry that Draco might be exhausted from giving so much of himself.

“What happened?” Harry writes, hoping that Draco has just a little more to give – not for the case, but for Harry.

“He was so weak. I had to take him side-along and I didn't know where to go. I only know wizarding places and they were always waiting for us. In the end I took us to a safe house the Death Eaters had used during the war. My Father had the book, had prepared the magic. All I had to do was to kill him. How messed up is that?” The words fade and he next ones appear on the opposite page, right under Harry's finger tips. “I couldn't do it.”

Harry puts his fingers back to the words after he's read them. They are the only way Draco has of reaching out to anyone and brushing his fingers over them feels intimate somehow.

“He told me I would just be putting him out of his misery and once it had been done I would be safe. No one would be able to kill me. That's when the Dementors showed up.”

Harry closes his eyes. Of course there had been Dementors. He had known this part was coming, had known that just because the book held a part of Draco's soul it didn't mean the Dementors hadn't taken the rest.

“I tried to ward them off.” Draco writes and the letters seem sloppy, somehow. “I swear, I tried.”

“I know.”

“No, you don't. You don't know anything! Watching those things suck-” Draco's writing breaks off mid-sentence. “I wanted to throw up, but I didn't have the strength for it.” He continues. “I was weak, too weak, cold and miserable. I didn't think I'd be strong enough to do it.”

“To produce a Patronus?”

“To kill my father.” Draco writes. “I just wanted to end his pain. I didn't even think about the book or the damn magic, just... When I cast the killing curse I thought – just for a moment – that the Dark Lord had won.”

Harry lets the quill hover as he reads Draco's words and he realizes that he's shaking. It takes him a while to acknowledge that the pity he feels for Draco is lazed with anger.

“Did it ever occur to you to come to me and ask for my help?” Harry scribbles before he can change his mind. He needs to know.

“Don't be ridiculous, Potter.” comes Draco's reply. “What could you have done? Clung to the pyre?”

Harry drops the quill with a discouraged sigh and rubs his face with both hands. Outside his windows Buckbeak is lounging in a patch of evening sun. When a swallow soars low over his head he snaps after it, but he doesn't go for the chase.

He's smarter than Harry, it would seem, since he knows when to commit to a fight and when not to. Draco is right; if it came down to it, Harry probably would have clung to the pyre. Now instead he keeps writing in a book that drains him, even though he can't use it for anything. Draco just gave Harry his story about that day, which is the best Harry could hope to get out of the book, but Harry has nothing to use the information for anymore. At this point he is just tormenting himself.

When Harry turns his eyes back to the book there are new words for him.

“Don't put me away.” Draco has written.

Harry frowns. He's barely written in the book today and he still feels tired. “What do you want me to write about?”

“The Christmas break.”

So sly, Harry thinks and smiles despite himself. “No.”

The refusal doesn't seem to shake Draco. “Then tell me how Kali Mehal ended up inside the armour on the fourth floor.

“How do you know about that?” Harry demands.

“Ron told me.”

“He did not!” Harry writes, sounding more sure than he feels, because, in truth, it is a pretty good story and he wouldn't blame Ron for letting it slip. “Besides if he told you, then there's no reason to tell the story again.”

“Please?”

Harry blinks down at the page. The word stays for a long time. “I'd never thought I'd see the day.” he writes. “Draco Malfoy begging...”

There's a long stretch of time where nothing happens on the page, then the word appears again, this time larger. “Please?”

Harry writes.


	18. October 3

Saturday Harry returns to Malfoy Manor.

Just like last time he gravitates towards the kitchens and finds the House-elves in the middle of a nap.

“Apologies to Master.” The House-elf from last time squeaks and Harry asks for another cup of tea. The elf's name is Mibbi and Harry thinks she's probably the elf in charge of the Malfoy kitchens, maybe even the whole household, but he doesn't ask.

He knows he can't ask her directly about her old Master's secrets, not with out risking her outrage and possibly forcing her to punish herself, and Harry has seen quite enough of the way Malfoy elves punish themselves, thank you. Instead Harry asks Mibbi to show him Mrs. Malfoy favourite room and Mibbi leads the way while Harry tries not to spill his tea.

Mibbi leads him to a sitting room where the whole outer wall has been knocked down to allow direct access to a large Orangery, build entirely from elegantly ornamented iron, glass and, no doubt, ancient magic. It reminds Harry of Andromeda's Conservatory, but while it - like the rest of the Manor - looks newly cleaned and the plants lush, it still somehow has an air of decay about it.

“Did Mrs. Malfoy take care of these plants herself?” Harry asks, never having heard of gardening being a House-elf job.

“Most certainly. The Mistress was very fond of the greens. She even closed this part of the Manor off while _they_ was here.”

Harry doesn't ask who _they_ were. He's pretty sure he already knows and he doesn't want to risk Mibbi's health by tricking her into saying bad things about her Master's guests. Instead he asks for more tea and starts exploring the room.

He and Lisa hadn't been here last time they went to the Manor, but he vaguely remember coming here when they raided the place right after the Battle. He doesn't remember, though, if anything is different now than it was then. If this place had been closed off when Voldemort and the Death Eaters had used the Manor, then it's safe to assume it wouldn't have needed much restoration, unlike the rest of the rooms. If anything is different here, it's because Narcissa had changed it for a different reason.

The only thing he can find, that he knows wasn't here a year ago, is a slip of paper with the address of Draco's flat in Muggle London.

It's been folded and handled and Harry can almost see Narcissa sitting there with the address in her hand, thinking of Floo-calling her son. She couldn't though, because Draco didn't have a fireplace.

On the wall there's a painting of Narcissa and Draco, just the two of them. Draco is around fifteen in the painting and has a rare expression of kindness on his face. It's not a look Harry remembers seeing on Draco in that age.

Sure, at fifteen Draco had grown up to be easy on the eyes, but his good looks had been overshadowed by the fact that he had been a horrible human being, that almost always wore a scowl, especially around Harry. Harry remembers thinking then, that if only Draco hadn’t been so nasty he could have been one of those leaders that people followed blindly out of pure awe.

He hadn’t been nasty to everyone though, because Draco did have friends in school. He must have been nice to Pansy and Blaise, because Harry knows enough about those two to be certain that they didn’t take being shat on all too well. Crabbe and Goyle, on the other hand, might have enjoyed being shat on, for all Harry knows.

Draco in the painting lifts his chin and turns his head to look at his mother and Narcissa looks so proud.

“Proud.” Harry says out loud, even if it's barely more than a whisper. “But you weren't brave. Hardly altruistic. You wouldn't have done anything unless there was something in it for you.” And then it finally hits home and Harry has to close his eyes and mentally kick himself.

“You didn't do it because it was the right thing to do. You did it to clear your name. You did it for Draco, didn't you? You were fine living in this Prison, knowing people hated you. You had survived Voldemort, you could survive anything. That's what Malfoys are, after all, isn't it? Survivors.

“But Draco wouldn't return home - he couldn't stand this house - so you had to do something. You had to do what ever you could to clear the Malfoy name, to clear his name, so he would be safe. You risked your life. You _gave_ your life.” He stops and looks at the painting, at Narcissa and the way she looks at Draco like he hung the moon.

“And I can't prove it.”


	19. October 5

“You really shouldn't have gone alone!” Lisa says when Harry finds her Monday after lunch to tell her about his revelation at the Manor. “That place still has a lot of dark magic and possibly traps and what's more important, it's creepy!”

“I think I can manage.” Harry tells her with a reassuring smile. “I am an Auror, remember?”

“Aurors get killed, too, remember?” She counters and Harry can't argue with that.

“Besides,” Lisa continue, sounding genuinely hurt, although Harry suspects most of it is fake. “I thought we were working this case together.”

“We are. It was Saturday.”

“Excuses!” Lisa says with a dismissive wave of her hand. She picks up the mug of tea from Harry's desk to take a sip and Harry doesn't stop her, even though it's his tea. “What is it with you Gryffindors? All so eager to get yourself killed.”

“What do you mean?”

Lisa lowers the mug from her lips and gives him a wary look. “You heard about Neville, right?”

Harry's stomach drops as a wave of dread washes through him. “What about him?”

“Oh, shit that came out wrong.” Lisa quickly says, holding up her free hand. “He's fine. Or _not dead_. Shit, I'm sorry.”

Despite her reassurance Harry doesn't calm down, adrenalin already flooding his system. “What happened?”

“He was in Leeds this morning. He said he'd found something strange in the things you confiscated from that Black Marked three weeks ago.” Lisa rants off and follows Harry out of his office, even though she has to run to keep up with his strides. “I didn't really ask.”

“Don't tell me he went alone.” Harry finds himself saying, as the dread in his chest from just seconds ago is transformed into a hard fist of anger.

“Now you know how I feel!” Lisa calls after him as he steps into a lift.

Harry's anger is almost completely gone by the time he makes it St. Mungo's.

Neville is sitting up in a bed, wearing the embarrassingly open paper gowns that Harry has nothing but bad experiences with. Especially combined with bedpans. Neville looks pale, but relatively high-spirited as he talks to a Healer Apprentice. When she hears him enter she turns around and Harry recognises her as Hanna Abbot from their year at Hogwarts. She gives Harry a small smile and a nod and then hurries from the room.

Harry tries to get an assessment on Neville's state without looking too closely at his paper gown. He seems to have splinched himself across the shoulder, but Harry recognises the smell of Dittany and knows it's going to heal fine. So is the cut across Neville's cheek and the scrapes on his knees and hands. _If you aren't willing to give your all you're going to lose._ But this hadn't been a game.

“I didn't know, I'm sorry.” Harry says.

Neville winches a little when he tries to sit up straighter and Harry sees the filigree markings from a dark curse running the side of his ribcage.

“Don't be.” Neville says.

“Okay, then I won't.” Harry agrees, finding the strength to be the leader of M2, instead of Neville's friend. “You went alone, Neville, what were you thinking?”

“You can't be everywhere, Harry.” Neville says promptly, obviously having expected Harry's reprimand. “Look, Susan is too polite to say anything and Lisa wouldn't notice, because she never looks at anyone's face if they're over 1.60, so I'll say it 'cause I'm in a hospital bed and I hope that grants me a bit of mercy.” He looks at Harry with a hardness that Harry don't remember seeing since the early days after the Battle. Then, “You look like crap, mate.” is what comes out of Neville's mouth.

Harry actually laughs, but that just seems to tick Neville off.

“Seriously, you didn't even look this worn during the war.” Neville presses. “The closest you've come was right after you gave your statement in the trails, 'tho I know we're not supposed to talk about _that_.”

The laughter leaves Harry's chest, but it only subsides into an affectionate softness.

“Neville.”

“No, you listen to me, for once, Harry Potter. You said you were working on something stupid and I bloody well don't hope that has anything to do with why you now permanently look like a werewolf after full moon, because then I could have stopped you and I didn't.”

“It's nothing.” Harry protests and when Neville gives him a murderous look, he adds, “Nothing too bad. Look, I've been working on this case.”

“With Lisa.” Neville nods. “The Malfoy one.”

“She told you?”

“I'm not stupid Harry.” Neville says and continues. “I get that these cases are important to you. That's why I went back to the marked to begin with, see? Remember we confiscated that box filled with vials of Blackfire Elixir? Well, one of the vials turned out to be a memory.” Neville explains. “I brought it to Lisa and she ran it through her Damien Code. The memory contains a couple of the Supporters you have as suspects, the suicide ones, and – you guessed it – Narcissa Malfoy. Only she doesn't look like she wants to be there.”

Harry feels a bit of the same excitement he had felt when he and Lisa had first theorised that it all seemed to be connected and he's slightly surprised at how satisfying it is. It isn't chasing down bad guys in a whirl of curses and adrenalin and it isn't being a hair's breath from death or just barely making it in time to save a life. But like Neville had said, being an Auror isn't all about being brave and playing skipping rope with the fine lines instead of walking them.

With this case it's all in the details and it's about building a puzzle without knowing the bigger picture, and although Harry hasn't done much detective work since he joined M2 he's beginning to see why some of the Aurors prefer cases like this as oppose to the pursuits.

Pulling up a chair, Harry sits down and has Neville run the memory through in details. When Neville finishes, Harry feels slightly dizzy.

“Why didn't you come to me with this?” Harry says, rubbing his eyes under the glasses.

“Because you look half dead, I thought we'd covered that part?” Neville says with a tired smile and Harry is reminded that Neville should probably be resting. “Harry, what is it you're trying to do here, exactly?”

“Narcissa Malfoy was trying to bring these people down, to get some goodwill back to the Malfoy name.” Harry says, and the painting of Narcissa and Draco pops up in his mind. “I want to finish what she started.”

“Harry.” Neville says, eyes laced with pain. “There aren't any Malfoys left.”

 

 


	20. October 6

That night Harry wakes up as a sob escapes his throat. He's drenched in sweat and shaking from adrenaline, and he just keep shaking. He rolls to the side of the bed and throws up on the floor, trying to swallow the burning feeling away. In the end he has to sit up and cast an Agumenti on the glass on his bedside table, but he's too weak to do it properly.

There's a crack and Kreacher appearers at the foot of his bed. “Kreacher heard Master was sick. Kreacher brings Master water.”

“Thanks.” he mutters and takes the water, drinks it down. It tastes sickly sweet in his mouth, compared to the taste of acid.

“Can Kreacher help Master with his stomach problems in any other way?”

“No thanks, Kreacher.” Harry says, lying back in the bed.

“Then Kreacher will just clean up.”

As Kreacher moves around the room, Harry's body begins to calm down. The clock on his bedside table tells him it's just past five, but he can't go back to sleep. After half an hour he slides out of bed and goes downstairs to take a cold shower. Of course his bed has been made with fresh sheets when he returns and he sits on the edge, feet on the cold floor boards as he picks up Draco's Book from his bedside table.

 _There aren't any Malfoys left_ , Neville had said, but he had been wrong. There is still Draco, soul locked away inside a Horcrux, body kept magically alive in St Mungo's Hospital and Harry, unable to put the two back together. The thought makes him feel helpless all over again, the same helplessness that had haunted him in his nightmare; Empty family portraits on the walls and Draco tied to a stake, screaming with no sound coming from his mouth, because Harry had been holding Draco's Book, the only voice Draco had left.

“What do you expect from me?” Harry asks, feeling a ball of hot rage forming in his chest. Of course Draco doesn't answer, the darkness always quiet these days. It's crazy really, how much Harry actually misses having Draco there when he wakes from his nightmares.

When they were still at Hogwarts the nightmares had been the first thing he and Draco had managed to bond over. Between the two of them it was more than a third of their nights where they would wake each other up.

Harry hates to admit it, but on those nights he had actually felt better, when the darkness and the distance between their beds had made it easier to talk about the ugly stuff. It hadn't been a regular thing, nor had any of them been entirely truthful, Harry suspects, but it had been enough that Harry had eventually started to consider them friends.

Still shaking from the aftermath of his nightmare Harry puts the tip of his quill to the blank pages and begins to write.

 

>  
> 
> _October 27 th 1998_
> 
> The night the first sleet falls Draco starts up an old conversation. Harry has all but forgotten it, but by the way Draco's voice sounds soft and earnest in the darkness of their Dorm Room, it's clear that he hasn't.
> 
> “The first night here.” Draco says and Harry opens his eyes to look at the curtains framing his bed. “I asked if this was part of my punishment. Being stuck with you.”
> 
> “I said it was part of your rehabilitation.” Harry says, remembering.
> 
> “Is everything?”
> 
> Harry must have been closer to sleeping than he'd thought, because his brain feels slow and mushy. “Is everything what?”
> 
> “Part of my so-called rehabilitation?” Draco asks. “At my trial they used the words “continuous disciplinary initiatives”, but I didn't expect them to be cruel and unusual.”
> 
> “What are you talking about?”
> 
> The silence stretches for so long that Harry closes his eyes again and turns his back on Draco's bed.
> 
> “Living with you, eating next to you, having all our classes together.” Comes Draco's half-whispered reply and it's so very Slytherin of him. Harry bets Draco had half-hoped Harry would have fallen back asleep by now.
> 
> Harry sighs, not sure what he had expected from Draco. “You think that's cruel?”
> 
> “It is if it's some kind of ploy.” Harry's eyes snap wide open again as the last remains of sleep is drained from him in an instant, but Draco is already going on, maybe hoping that Harry hadn't actually heard him. “I suppose, as far as room mates go, you're not the worst. You're not as vain as Blaise. If he and I had been roomed together we would never get down to breakfast with just one mirror.”
> 
> Harry is still getting used to this, to Draco telling him personal things about himself that isn't intended to make himself sound more important. Judging by the speed of which he changes subject Draco is about as surprised with his own honesty as Harry is.
> 
> “It's actually amusing how Professor Delacour is running circles around herself trying to make sure we don't end up paired against each other in Duel Techniques. If only she knew she had nothing to worry about.”
> 
> Fleur Delacour had taken the job as Hogwarts' new professor in Duel Techniques. Even with Bill staying in the London branch of Gringotts Harry had been surprised to hear Fleur had taken the job, but mostly because she hadn't gone to Hogwarts herself. Unsurprisingly, however, Fleur is a capable and engaging Professor.
> 
> “You think I wouldn't jinx you?” Harry counters and he finds himself hoping he'll be paired with Draco soon, just to prove he would.
> 
> Draco snorts, a huffy little sound. “I'm sure you would. But my wand won't work against you.”
> 
> “You've tried?” Harry asks and he has to sit up in the bed, because what the hell.
> 
> “You snore.” comes Draco's defiant reply.
> 
> “You tried to silence me in my sleep?” He demands, the sound of his voice more prissy than he'd aimed for.
> 
> “Oh, come off it, Potter.” Draco merely says, as if him casting spells on Harry was no big deal. “As if you wouldn’t have tried the same thing. It's not like I tried to cast an Imperius on you.”
> 
> “That's not funny.” Harry all but growls and flops back down in bed, head landing hard on the pillow.
> 
> “It's a little funny. All things considered.” Draco does sound slightly apologetic, at least. Or maybe Harry just imagines he does.
> 
> “Would you?” Harry asks and it feels like testing the water, like he had a few weeks ago when he'd asked if Draco minded sitting next to him when they ate.
> 
> “Would I what?”
> 
> “Cast an Imperius on me in my sleep?”
> 
> “And risk going to Azkaban?” Draco says, but there's something about the overly light tone of his voice, that makes Harry believe that Draco is just being defiant for the sake of defiance. Harry knows that Draco, of all people, does not take being sent to Azkaban lightly.
> 
> It's not like he could, anyway, Harry reminds himself. There are restrictions on Draco's magic and Harry hasn't memorized the full list, but he knows all the Unforgivable are on there.
> 
> “You're a prat.” Harry mutters, but he's sure Draco hears him, because there's a low chuckle from the other bed.
> 
> Harry falls asleep with his fingers curled around his wand.

When Harry wakes up that morning wants nothing better than to skip work, but Neville is still recovering and Harry has to be the grown-up. Luckily it's a slow morning and Harry spends it writing up the reports he has been shamelessly neglecting.

After lunch Harry and Justin Finch-Fletchley ends up getting into an actual wand fight with a Chadian Wizard on a case regarding a shipment of Runespoor eggs. All the Wizard has to do is fill out the paperwork, but apparently he had taken affront and the Ministry workers had called for back up. The Wizard doesn't speak a word English and Justin only barely speaks enough French to manage a minimum of communication. It still ends badly.

“Can you please ask him why he's so mad?” Harry calls, ducking down behind a crate at the Class D Custom Office

“I'm pretty sure he's angry about the duty rates.” Justin calls back and then sticks his head out to assess the angle of attack.

“That's not a reason to cast a blister hex.”

“Then what is?” Justin asks and fires off a Petrificus Totalus towards the loudly yelling Wizard. It just bounces off his Shield spell.

“What?”

“What _is_ a good reason?”

“Attempted Murder, infidelity, raisins in baked goods.” Harry calls back and then Apperates to where Justin is crouching. Harry leans in close with one arm braced against the crate next to Justin's head, half to make sure Justin can hear him, half to protect his subordinate from the bouncing spells.

“You trust me?” Harry asks in a low voice.

Justin doesn't hesitate. “Of course.”

“I'm going to side-along you to right behind him and as soon as we land we both Stupify the bastard in the back, hope it's enough to break his Shield.” Harry says and Justin turns his big eyes on Harry and nods. Without a pause Harry wraps one arm around Justin and twists.

They both pop up behind the Chadian Wizard and yell out a unified “Stupify”. The Wizard stops moving, sways on his feet and then tumbles forwards. He falls on one of his own crates, crushing the Runespoor eggs inside with a clammy sound.

“There goes about ten thousand Galleons worth of potion ingredients.” Justin says, sounding almost genuinely upset.

“Really? I though they'd be for pets?” Harry says as they haul the Wizard up in a vertical position. “I always wanted a pet snake. I used to be a Parselmouth, you know.”

Justin groans. “You think I don't remember?” And they Apparate back to the Ministry, leaving the clean-up for the MLE Patrol hovering nervously.

 


	21. October 7

The first time Harry loses time he panics.

In truth, there's nothing dramatic about the event itself, just a small hole in his morning, a blank spaces of time that he can't account for. One moment he is eating cereal, hip leaned against the kitchen counter as he flips through the _Prophet_ , scanning the headlines - a ring of potions dealers, accused of helping Voldemort, has been cleared; Another two low-ranking Supporters has been captured, awaiting trial - the next moment he is blinking himself awake, sitting on one of the chairs around the table, his tea lukewarm.

He might even have put it down to lack of sleep or even just the stress of his job, if it hadn't been for the fact that he is clutching Draco's Book in one hand.

His system is instantly flooded with adrenalin, because even if no one is flinging curses at him it still feels like an attack. His first instinct is to loosen his grip and drop the damn book, but then he is back in the Room of Requirement, Draco's hand in his own sweaty one as a flaming Chimaera emerges from the firestorm below. The spine of the book becomes Draco's fingertips, slipping, and the book only drops for a fraction of a second before Harry's reflexes kicks in and he catches it before it thuds to the floor.

He locks the book in his study before he Floos to work.

“Harry.” Lisa greets, as she walks into his office two hours later without knocking. She closes the door behind her and drops a case file on Harry's desk. “I come bearing gifts.”

“I'd prefer coffee.” Harry says, but picks up the case file anyway, pushing Draco's Book out of his thoughts.

“I doubt that.” Lisa simply says.

Harry scans the first page, but apart from the fact that the case has been closed two months ago, nothing really stands out. Two counts of Murder, several counts of Muggle mistreatment. Sent two Aurors to St. Mungo's before Ron and Justin had managed to bring him down.

“Merlin!” Lisa says, snatching the file out of Harry's hand when he apparently takes too long. “Neville was right, you really do need some time off.”

“Lisa.”

“Fine. Neville told you that I ran that memory you two found through my Damien Code, right? Well, a name came up.”

“Lester Mance.” Harry guesses from the name on the case file.

“Good ol' Lester Mance.” Lisa confirms. “And just so you won't have to overwork your mushy brain by guessing, I'm going to go ahead and tell you that Mr. Mance is currently _not dead_. In fact he is enjoying the fresh ocean air and minimalistic, yet charming feng shui inspired cells of Azkaban.” She gives him a knowing look and Harry finally catches up.

“We're going to need a Port Key for this one.” Harry says.

“I'm way ahead of you.” Lisa says and flashes him one of her dangerous smiles.

“I would still have preferred coffee.” Harry says, grabbing his Auror robes as Lisa leads the way out of his office.

“I have two cups waiting on my desk.” Lisa says. Harry considers telling her how much he loves her, but she probably already knows.

“I knew the M2s weren't exactly drowning in cases.” Head Auror Gale says. “But it's a little desperate to reopen your old ones, isn't it?”

“It's probably just a glitch in the witness statement.” Lisa says with a sweet smile. “You know paperwork isn't really a strength of the M2.”

“Tell me about it.” The Head says, laughing. “Okay, I'll have Maggi set up a Port Key and two guards ready to escort you on arrival, how's that?”

“Thank you.” Harry says, smiling. “I owe you one.”

“Maybe one day you can show me that right hook of yours.” The Head says, returning Harry's smile.

It's only the third time Harry has been to Azkaban Prison, but he would have been perfectly happy to never set his foot here ever again. The prison sits on jagged, algae-covered cliffs, black walls against a perpetually stormy-grey sky. The corridors are lit by torches, flames flickering in the constant draft. The lower levels are cold and damp, the highest levels like an oven during the summer months and everywhere, drifting silently through the hallways, are Dementors, their hooded faces turning greedily as Harry and Lisa passes them. They keep their distance, though, fended off by Harry's Stag and Lisa's Crow Patronus, as well as the Patronuses of the two Prison Guards who leads them through the corridors.

“They're nasty creatures.” One of the guards says as he sees Harry go pale, his tone apologetic. “Unfortunately they gather on this level, near the newest prisoners where there's still a bit of hope they can prey on.”

“Hope doesn't last long here.” The other guard adds grimly. Harry can feel his stomach twist, the Stag next to him flickering. He can't help wondering how long Draco would have lasted here.

“I don't like you doing this” Ron had said two weeks before the Malfoy trials, as he and Harry sat outside the Burrow. It was the only time Ron had ever questioned Harry's choice to volunteer as Draco's guardian. “What's that git ever done to deserve your help?”

“Nothing.” Harry had answered truthfully. “But that doesn't mean he deserves Azkaban.”

“What about when he kills you in his sleep?”

“Malfoy isn't evil. I'm not saying he hasn't done some bad things-”

“Like nearly killing me.”

“-But he's not so far gone that he can't be redeemed.” Harry had pressed, the memory of a repulsive, disfigured creature on the ground and Dumbledore's words, _You cannot help_ , still haunting his mind. Tom Riddle might have been too far gone to be saved, but Draco Malfoy wasn't.

“What the-” One of the guards says, pulling Harry out of his own thoughts. They have stopped by a gate that seems to be locked, the corridor behind it filled with a choking darkness.

“What's going on?” Lisa demands.

“Can't tell.” The guard says. “Seems like the entire corridor has been shut off, but that's not supposed to happen, 'less-”

“Unless one of those bastards manages to get his cell door open.” The other guard continues. “Emergency measures,”

Harry raises his wand, shining a soft light into the closed-off corridor in front of them. He barely manages to avoid stumbling backwards when a Dementor suddenly comes drifting out of the darkness right in front of him.

“Shit.” one of the guards says, pulling his wand as Harry says _Alohomora_ and pushes the heavy iron gate open. He lets his Patronus go in first, the silver stag scattering the Dementors back into the darkness of the empty cells.

Lisa casts incendios on the torches as they go, the two guards hanging back nervously.

“Has anyone been in this corridor recently?” Harry asks.

“'couse.” One of the guards says, catching up. “Guards patrol all corridors twice daily, bringing out food.”

“Anyone else?” Lisa presses, sounding tense.

“I'd imagine not, Auror Turpin.” the other guard says. “Not like people are queuing up to visit.”

They pass a few cell doors, all of them hanging open on their hinges, darkness inside. In the end the guards stop walking.

“Lester Mance.” One of them says, nodding at the name tag by the door. “Guess you're down on your luck.”

If Harry believed in something as fickle at luck he would be inclined to agree. Like the other cell doors Lester's is cracked ajar. It creaks on the hinges as Lisa opens it and steps inside, the light of her wand falling on a man sitting on the floor, eyes empty and face void of expression.

“I want a list of everyone who came to this bloody rock.” Lisa demands. “I want a list of your shifts and names on all prisoners in this corridor.”

“But Miss.” One guard says, eyes widening, but the other one cuts him off.

“Of course, Auror Turpin.” He says. “But you should understand this. We walk past their cells and we see the light in their eyes be snuffed out little by little. Ain't no one here who doubts these people are already paying for their crimes.”

“What are you thinking?” Lisa asks as they ride the elevator up to Level Two of the Ministry.

“That I don't believe in bad luck.” Harry says. It's been half an hour since they left Azkaban and he still feels sick, chilled to the bones and miserable. He has chocolate in his office and he offers some to Lisa, before sitting down in his chair.

“I don't think any of those guards would have done anything like that on purpose, Harry.” Lisa says, then makes a face. “Maybe for money, maybe if they had been blackmailed.”

“Maybe.” Harry says, thinking of Lester Mance, of the shell of him sitting there, drool down his chin. Death would have been kinder. Apparently Draco had thought the same when he killed his father.

“Now what?” Lisa says, nipping her chocolate. “I mean, I have to admit it was a long shot as it was.”

“No, I think you were right about him. At least someone went to the trouble of silencing him, risking their own exposure.” Harry says but falls silent when Head Auror Gale raps once on the door frame with his knuckle.

“Hey. Potter, Turpin.” The Head greets. “Any luck on your broken paper trail?”

“Incomplete witness statement.” Lisa corrects as Harry says, “Nah. Turned out to be a dead end.”

“Bummer. Look, can I borrow Bones and Corner tomorrow? I'm planning to pop in for a surprise visit in Nocturne Ally.”

“Sorry, Gale. I need all my own people tomorrow.” Harry says. “We tracked down the people who attacked Neville, so we're doing a strike tomorrow.”

“Merlin.” The Head says with a laugh. “Don't you people ever rest?”

“Rarely.” Harry says, forcing a grin.

When he returns home to Grimmauld Place Harry stands in the kitchen for near twenty minutes, just looking at Draco's Book. It looks so unassuming, lying there on the kitchen counter, but Harry is very aware of the waves of pulsing magic that radiates from it.

Since Draco first started replying to him, Harry has gone from treating the Horcrux as a source of information to treating it like a source of comfort. It's absurd really, Harry knows. He is fully aware that he is falling apart, didn't need the blackout today to prove that, but Harry is haunted by his own guilt, by his stupid need to save people and something else, something that Harry isn't willing to put a name on yet.

When he finally picks the book up he notes, swallowing hard, that it feels heavy in his hand - a little bit heavier every time he picks it up. Harry knows it still weighs the same, though, because he put it on the kitchen scales once. He suspects he's the only one who would be able to tell the difference anyway, since it's his soul adding to the weight.

“How much do you know about this book?” Harry writes.

“Just what my father said.” Draco replies shortly after. “That if I killed him the spell inside the book would protect me.”

“But you didn't kill him until after he had been Kissed?”

“I'm not a murderer, Potter.”

“I know.” Harry writes. “Which is why it doesn't make sense. See, killing someone splits your soul and the magic your father had bound to the book stores the fragment.” Harry writes. “It's called a Horcrux. But when Snape killed Dumbledore in our sixth year Dumbledore had been cursed, so it was just a matter of time before he would die anyway. He told Snape that it might not tear Snape's soul apart if he killed Dumbledore out of mercy.” Harry's handwriting is awful. He'll be surprised if Draco can even decipher it all. “You killed your father out of mercy, so you might not have split your soul.”

“But the spell worked. I'm here.” Draco writes back.

“That doesn't mean your soul was torn. What if the book took it all? When Voldemort came to kill me when I was a baby, he had prepared to make another Horcrux, but the Killing Curse backfired and nothing went as planned. But the magic of the prepared Horcrux didn't care. For some reason it made _me_ a Horcrux. None of that was planned.”

“You think the spell used to make a Horcrux has a mind of it's own?”

“It's certainly old and obscure enough.” Harry says. “What if the magic was ready and waiting, and when you didn't split your soul it just took all of it?”

“Could it work like that?”

“I don't know. I don't think anyone can say for sure, just like no one could have predicted what happened to me.”

“So how do I get out of this book?”

“By writing in it.” Harry says, hesitating. “I have to write in it until I've poured enough of my own soul into the book that it can let go of yours.”

There's a pause where Harry just stares at the blank pages.

“Just burn the damn thing.” Draco writes then and Harry doesn't hear back from him for a week.

 

 


	22. October 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING!** This chapter has some strong images.

Thursday Lisa barges into Harry's office, right before the mission briefing.

“You're not doing it.” She snaps, both hands at her hips. She vaguely reminds Harry of an angry fairy he saw in a Muggle cartoon when he was younger.

“Excuse me?”

“Harry, love.” She softens. “You're a great Auror and a very competent Wizard. You're also overworked and sleep deprived. You can't be a part of this strike.”

Harry gets up from his chair and walks around the desk, sitting down on the edge right in front of her with his arms crossed. Even perched like this he's looking down on her.

“I'm still the leader of M2, as far as I'm aware.” He says calmly, and then because Lisa doesn't take well to being patronized, he adds, “Auror Turpin.” for insult.

“Then with all due respect, _Sir_.” She says. “You are putting this mission in danger.”

“Well, as you so kindly reminded me, I have been running myself in the ground over this case. This might be our one chance to catch one of these people alive and get an actual witness. If I thought for one second that I would be putting that at risk, then I can promise you, I'd pull myself out of this strike without a moment's hesitation.”

“Harry.”

“Lisa, I trust your judgement. I trust all the M2s with my life.” Harry says and puts his hands on her shoulders. “I need you to do the same for me.”

She pinches at the bridge of her nose. “Can I at least be the one to cover your back.”

“In a strictly professional manner, Lisa, you can cover my back any time you want.”

“You're a prick.” Lisa says, as Harry leads the way to the mission briefing.

The first part of the mission goes exactly as planned. Except there's no one in the house when they arrive.

All six M2s Apparate in at the same time, backs against each other and wands ready, but the small living room is completely empty. With a nod from Harry they split up to search the other rooms while Harry quickly disables the blaring alarm.

Under the stairs he finds a locked door that leads to a set of stairs going down and as he blasts it open he is met with a choking wall of smoke. Casting a Bubble Head Charm he steps down the stairs, wand raised. He finds himself in a potions lab, much like his own in Grimmauld Place. There are probably enough illegal ingredients down here to fuel a Potion master's wet dreams for years, but Harry doesn't have the present of mind to look at any of it, because in the corner of the room, tied to the wall, is the unmistakable remains of a burned body.

There are people coming down the stairs and Harry turns his wand on them, but it's just Susan and Neville, both wearing Bubble Head Charms as well.

They stop dead on the stairs, Susan peaking out behind Neville with huge eyes.

“That's not a grown-up.” Neville says, probably because he's not willing to accept the word “child” in this scenario.

Harry shakes his head, trying not too think about it, trying to push it down and save it for a later meltdown, because he can't do his job if he gets affected now. They need a Residual Imprint Trace Algorithm up and running _yesterday,_ before they lose the evidence they so desperately need.

“We need to gather up evidence so we can get permission to put a proxy-Trace on this guy. With any luck he was in a hurry when he left and didn't take the time to clear this place for residues.” Harry says, focusing. “Neville I need you to check his wards. See if they had any omissions other than himself. Susan, get Lisa, help her set up RITA.”

“Harry.” Neville says, still looking at the damn burned body.

“Neville, I need you, mate. You need to be here.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I-” But Neville is cut off by a very loud cracking sound, as the ceiling comes down around them.

Harry just have enough time to Apparate to the stairs, wrap himself around Susan and push them forward, so they'll land on top of Neville. He doesn't even think when he casts the nonverbal Protego.

Harry refuses to spend the night in St Mungo's.

The Healers fusses over him as he gets dressed, but he can't even muster up enough energy to feel ashamed about ripping off the damn hospital gown before pulling on his trousers and long-sleeved t-shirt.

He goes by Michael's room before he takes off. Michael had been right on top of the cellar as the timed Blast Trap went off, and the blow of it had knocked him unconscious as the floor had collapsed under him. Harry had managed to produce a Shield strong enough to protect him, Neville and Susan from the debris, but they had all taken a few hits and cuts as they fought their way out of the rubble. Justin and Lisa had Apparated them all to Sct Mungo's, but even though they had all made it out alive, Harry knows they've still lost. By now all evidence is gone and it shouldn't matter, not more than the lives of his team, but it still makes him feel empty, because Harry knows he is running out of time.

Even Draco's Book is working against him.

He tries to get a reaction out of the pages, any kind of response, but Draco's Book stays silent. Harry's words aren't even absorbed and the frustration of it makes Harry smash his tea mug against the wall. He looks at the broken cup for a few seconds, actually startled by his own action. Then he mends the cup with a flick of his wand, vanishing the spilled tea.

He can actually hear Hermione's voice saying, “Oh, Harry, this is the magic of the Horcrux getting to you, can't you see?”

He wants to tell her, actually almost _calls her up_ to tell her, that it's not that simple, because this is Draco and Draco isn't evil. Draco is sensitive and cocky and smart and prone to anxiety and his smile – his real smile – can break Harry's heart like nobody's business.

With a deep sigh Harry curls up in his bed and takes the four different potions he had been handed on his way out of the ward. He's asleep before he can take off his glasses.

 

 


	23. October 9

Friday Harry agrees to assist two Patrol Wizards from the North Irish department of Law Enforcement on a case involving highly irregular enchantments on a garden pond in Claudy. They seem completely bewildered when Harry Potter shows up and he has to give them both stern looks before they can gather themselves enough to update him on the case.

It's not like it's his idea to be here. Neville had taken one look at him that morning and insisted that Harry should spend the day assisting the MLE Patrols, go home at a decent hour, eat real food and get a good night's sleep. Neville wasn't actually the boss of him, but Harry appreciated the friendly concern and went along with it.

Five long hours later they have removed a dozen charms, including a very resilient Rainbow Charm, and Harry leaves the two Patrol Wizards to explain to the old couple why they can't have a singing pot of gold in their back yard.

When Harry sits down with Draco's Book that evening his fingers trace over the filigree markings on the leather cover of the book. Harry knows he put markings like this on Draco during their sixth year at Hogwarts. He's not the only one, though, but Harry had never asked about the other markings, _couldn't_ , because he wasn't supposed to know about them

Once, a few weeks before their last year at Hogwarts had ended, Draco had come close to talking about them, but Harry hadn't pushed and Draco hadn't continued. There had just been too many layers of resentment and distrust between them to be pealed away in just one year. Even now Draco doesn't trust him, doesn't trust Harry to make things right.

“Yesterday I led my team right into a trap.” Harry writes and somehow this feels more important than anything he's ever written in the book before. “I don't know how, but somehow they knew we were coming. Michael got hurt pretty badly, but the rest of us walked away with scrapes and bruises. The thing is, my team - they trust me. They put their lives in my hands, because I ask them to.” Harry hesitates, then adds. “During your trail I never asked you to trust me. We had a plan and we knew it would work. It would keep you out of Azkaban and all you had to do was to put your life in my hands. But I never asked you.”

He looks at his own words, fading slowly into the paper.

“So I'm going to ask you now.” Harry writes. “To please trust me.”

   __

> _October 30_ _th_ _1998_.
> 
> It doesn't take long before Harry realizes that he's going to have real trouble keeping up with his school work.
> 
> Almost every week Harry and the M2s have to leave the school in a rush in the middle of class to chase after a group of Supporters who are attacking Muggles and creating chaos. When the M2s arrive there are arrests to be made and people to help and the M2s are sure to miss the rest of their classes for the day. Harry doesn't care much, though, because those are the times he gets to save people and feel a bit like a hero, even if he has to spend the next many hours Obliviating scared Muggles and escorting the injured to St. Mungo's for treatment.
> 
> The calls he gets during the night are much worse. They are almost always Death Eater attacks and unlike the Supporters, who seems to enjoy causing panic and mayhem, the Death Eaters often work alone to deal one determined and cruel blow to a high ranking Witch or Wizard. When Harry arrives for those, it's already too late and he's only met by corpses twisted in pain and dead eyes staring through him, wide with fear. That's the kind of images that has Harry waking up in the darkness from chilling nightmares, soaked in sweat and heart racing.
> 
> Most of those nights he wakes Draco up, too.
> 
> When Harry lies in his bed, listening to the sounds of the castle at night, trying to get his breathing under control, Draco will slip out of bed and open a window. Harry knows he must have called out in his sleep, but Draco never comments on it.
> 
> Most mornings after a nightmare Harry wants to skip breakfast and morning classes, but Draco never lets him. That's one of the best things about having Draco Malfoy as a room mate; Draco is a drama queen, but he doesn't allow for self-pity. If he did, Harry suspects, Draco would have given up long ago.
> 
> Draco doesn't carry him through classes either, even though they sit next to each other in most of them. The closest is Potions, where Draco does most of the decision making, but that has more to do with the fact that Draco is good at Potions and Harry is less so.
> 
> In October the seventh years, old and new, is entrusted with the brewing of a Polyjuice potion. Harry is pretty sure it's not something that would have made it into Professor Snape's curriculum, but Professor Slughorn has high aspirations for them, and stresses that the best way to learn how to see through the disguise of a Polyjuice Potion is to have tried it, as well as witnessed the effect up close.
> 
> So when Harry and his classmates arrives at the Potions classroom in the dungeon Friday the 30th of October, it is with nervous chatter and an air of expectation after having been working on this project for so long.
> 
> Harry already knows his and Draco's potion is perfect. Hermione might have done most of the actual work during their second year, but Harry has a pretty good idea about the process. And if that wasn't enough to assure him that their potion is brewed correctly, the smell certainly is.
> 
> Before he lets them drink it Slughorn does a last check of the cauldrons bubbling sluggishly around the classroom. Taking a small vial from each cauldron Professor Slughorn adds the fine, orange dust of dried Merpeople tears to the mix, to reveal if the potion is safe for consumption. To Harry's – and Professor Slughorn's - surprise everyone has managed to produce a perfect Polyjuice Potion.
> 
> “Outstanding! Truly impressive, even for a NEWT class.” He exclaims and returns to the front of the class. “Now, if you'll all take the cups I've left on your desks and fill them with potion.”
> 
> Draco fills both cups with Polyjuice Potion and hands the first one to Harry.
> 
> “You'll be taking the potion twice during this class to ensure you'll have enough time to study the result, so if you'd all please surrender two hairs from your head to your partner and put one of their hair in your potion. It will sizzle a little, no worries.” Professor Slughorn adds.
> 
> Harry watches as Draco's blond strain melts into the potion before he drinks it down with nothing more than a frown at the vile taste. Around the classroom there is gagging and groans of displeasure, but like Harry Draco just plugs his nose and drinks his cup down with a shutter.
> 
> It's not the first time Harry is faced with a copy of himself, but the effect is no less troubling and bizarre than it was seeing six other Harrys in the living room of number 4 Privet Drive. Adding to the weirdness is the fact that Draco is almost a full head taller than Harry and the reversal of their physical appearance means that Harry is now looking down at his own face.
> 
> Harry has never thought much on the way Draco moves or the way he leans on his hips, but seeing his own body fall into Draco's pretentious posture is enough to draw a smile from Harry.
> 
> “Don't do that.” Draco warns, reminding Harry that vocal cords doesn't change with the exterior. Draco still sounds like himself, which might be the oddest thing about this whole experience. It is, at least, until Draco's frown deepens into an expression Harry has never seen his own face make. Slowly Draco reaches up and plucks the glasses from Harry's face, warm fingers brushing the side of Harry's temples. When Draco puts the glasses on his own face he stops squinting instantly, instead blinking up at Harry.
> 
> Harry wonders briefly what he must have looked like, with Draco's face and his own glasses. Probably as amusing as Draco looks in a shirt that's slightly too tight for him, because Harry's chest is wider than Draco's.
> 
> He's not the only one who's a little fazed by seeing themselves moving in a unfamiliar way. There are giggles around the classroom and an angry girl telling her lap partner off for touching their new boobs. Harry resists the urge to unbutton his shirt and check Draco's chest for scars, instead reaching over to take Draco's left forearm.
> 
> He half expects Draco to pull away, but apparently Draco is as interested in knowing as Harry is and he allows Harry to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeve and pull it up to reveal the Dark Mark still there. The Mark, apparently, is a part of Draco Malfoy, no matter how he looks.
> 
> “I'm sorry.” Harry says, without really knowing why. Maybe because he understands how it feels to want to hide a mark. Even if his mark had made him The Chosen One and Draco's Mark had made him an outcast.
> 
> Draco quickly hides the Mark away again with a small, dismissive shake of his head and Harry is suddenly aware that it's the first time he's ever seen the Mark up close. Draco showers before Harry wakes and sleeps in a long-sleeved shirt, always careful to keep the Mark hidden. Harry wants to tell Draco that, given enough time, people will forget, but Harry isn't sure if it even works like that, so he doesn't say anything.
> 
> He spends the rest of the class studying the way his own face looks when Draco frowns or smiles or pouts as Slughorn's instructions on the blackboard tells them to. He doesn't think his face has ever pouted before, but Draco somehow manages to make Harry's face look very young and innocent while doing it.
> 
> “I want you all to take some good notes here today.” Professor Slughorn says, as all the students refresh their Polyjuice disguise with disgusted sounds from around the classroom. “You'll all be writing an individual report about how you felt being faced with yourself, complete with some thorough reflections on how you might go about figuring out if a person is actually someone else in Polyjuice disguise. Mind you, there is no textbook conclusion to this part, it's your own personal experience from today that's the basis for this part of the assignment.”
> 
> Next to him Draco is doing a valiant attempt at flattening Harry's unruly hair.
> 
> “Furthermore you will, in pairs, write up a fifty inch rapport on the process of brewing a Polyjuice potion.” Professor Slughorn continues. “I am sure you all have extensive notes from the past month, so it shouldn't prove much of a challenge.” He spells the blackboard clean and carefully vanishes the remaining Polyjuice Potion from their cauldrons before he dismisses them from the class with a final warning not to get their lap partner in trouble for the next hour until their refreshed dose wears off.
> 
> When Harry leaves the classroom he's not surprised to find that Draco trails after him.
> 
> “You can relax, Malfoy. I'm not going to take your body for a streak in the Great Hall.” Harry says with a smile, feeling Draco's face stretch differently around the expression than his own would.
> 
> “I'm more worried you'll strut around with that dumb smile on _my_ face, padding first years on the head and handing out sweets.” Draco drawls.
> 
> “Merlin forbid.” Harry says and laughs. “Although I have to admit, I'd like to see people's reaction to your delicate features actually smiling.”
> 
> “I do _not_ have delicate features!” Draco protests and stomps after Harry up the stairs. They pass a couple of Slytherin third years heading down and Harry calls out a warm greeting and waves.
> 
> “Stop that!” Draco says bitterly, making an aborted attempt at reaching for Harry's waving hand.
> 
> “Come on, Malfoy.” Harry says, as they reach the top of the stairs and move into a broader hallway. “Isn't it just a little bit interesting for you? I would have thought you'd love to have a full hour to stare at yourself.”
> 
> They pass a group of Hufflepuff sixth years who are on their way to Potions, carrying cauldrons and heavy books and Harry gives them the widest smile Malfoy's face can muster. A couple of the girls giggle and smiles back, making Draco groan.
> 
> “I should have known you'd be into this.” Draco mutters and Harry pretends not to have heard him.
> 
> “Besides,” Harry says instead, when the Hufflepuffs are out of earshot. “We're supposed to be gathering _thorough reflections_ for our rapport.”
> 
> “Well, then look all you want, Potter.” Draco says, throwing out his arms and spinning the the hallway. “If you want we can set up our own list of things we should do. Instead of frowning, pouting and smiling, it could be falling off a broom, mooning over Ginevra Weasley and taking a leak.”
> 
> There are absolutely no good reasons for Harry to tell Draco that he isn't actually mooning over Ginny any more, but there are plenty of bad ones, all of them sure to lead to more questions which Harry isn't ready to answer. Instead he does his best to keep his smile in place.
> 
> “You want to go take that leak now, Malfoy?” Harry taunts and pretends to head for the boy's bathroom, making Draco grab for his arm to stop him. “Or we could just play nicely for the remaining time,” Harry suggests, softening his smile. “Try not to ruin each other's respective friendships and under no circumstances go to the bathroom.”
> 
> Draco looks like he might have a few stipulations of his own to add, but must decide that they would raise more questions than they're worth, so instead he nods courtly and the two make their way to the Great Hall
> 
> At the entrance to the Great Hall they run into Hermione and Ron who's coming down from their Charms Class. Hermione greets them both before she does a double take at Draco looking like Harry.
> 
> “No.” she says to Draco, as if she's reprimanding him for looking like Harry, before she turns to face Harry instead, eyes narrowing. “That is rather disturbing. How long until it wears off?”
> 
> Ron hasn't quite caught up yet, but at Hermione's words he seems to actually look at them both, eyes going wide as they move from Draco looking like Harry to Harry looking like Draco.
> 
> “Bloody hell.” He says, and then burst out laughing, because Draco is once more trying to flatten Harry's hair, apparently out of pure discomfort at Ron and Hermione's scrutinising stares.
> 
> “Hey, have you two been to the loo yet?” Ron asks when he stops laughing.
> 
> “I actually have to go.” Draco says, sounding rueful.
> 
> “We had a deal,” Harry says with theatrical outrage. He's pretty sure the facial expression he's making is one he's seen on Draco's face quite a few times. “Want me to poke out your eyes before you go?”
> 
> “I might do it myself afterwards.” Draco mutters loud enough for them to hear and heads off towards the bathrooms.
> 
> “I'm going, too,” Harry says. “I can't risk leaving him alone looking like me.”
> 
> “Hey, while you're out there, check if he really has a tattoo of a snake on his lower back.” Ron calls after him.
> 
> Draco doesn't. But he does have zigzagging scars across his chest and the shadowy filigree marks where the Sectumsempra had hit. There are other, newer markings running up the side of his hip and a patch stretching across the area between his shoulder blades, almost like intricate frost patterns on windows.
> 
> It's not markings you see often. Usually the kind of curses that leave them are the kind you don't survive, even though they aren't as clean and painless as a Killing Curse. Harry used to think the Killing Curse was the worst and most unforgivable curse there was, but since he has seen much worse and much darker curses. If you're lucky enough to walk away from one of them, they will leave marks, delicate patterns that rise after a few hours like bruises and sometimes stay for years.
> 
> Harry's fingers shakes as he re-buttons his shirt.

 


	24. October 10

Saturday Harry sleeps in, or rather, he's too tired to get out of bed. At noon Kreacher comes up with a plate of sandwiches and Harry dutifully eats two of them. Afterwards he does in fact feel better and he ends up Floocalling Luna and asking her to go to Diagon Ally with him.

On the way Luna takes Harry to a Muggle coffee shop that has recently opened in London, called Starbucks. Harry hasn't heard of it, but Luna is very excited about the concept, so much so that Harry gets excited along with her.

They walk to Diagon Ally, clutching their Muggle to-go cups with their names written on them and it feels good to talk to Luna. Harry doesn't want to talk about work or Draco's Book and Luna was never one to talk about herself, so they end up talking about their friends and the good days before the war had started for real.

The harsh winds doesn't reach in between the magically protected buildings of Diagon Ally and Harry loosens his scarf as they take their time looking at the windows. It's taken a while, but life is finally returning to Diagon Ally. Although Weasley's Wizard Weezers is still the brightest and most prominent shop, there are other, smaller shops, that has started advertises their wares with colourful posters and shining, bewitched lights.

Luna is the one who takes him to buy new Winter Robes.

Harry gives Madam Malkin the shortest and most polite answer to all of her many question, while she fits the robes for him, but when she asks if Harry is seeing anyone right now, eyes wandering to Luna, Harry asks if they also sew clothes for toddlers.

As if on cue Luna takes over the conversation. She is very excited to hear about Teddy and Harry spends the rest of his fitting telling the story about how he and Andromeda had taken Teddy to Edinburgh last Sunday to pick up his new Crup puppy. Teddy has absolutely lost his heart to the little creature and the cats tolerates it with only mild annoyance.

“I was going to get him a toy broomstick for Christmas, but it's not really the weather for it.” Harry tells them both as Madam Malkin rings up his purchase. “So he'll get it for his birthday instead. That's in April.”

“When my nephew was that age I got him a model of the Hogwarts Express for Christmas.” Madam Malkin says, taking his money. “It's perfect for indoor weather.”

“I think he'd really like that.” Harry says with a smile. “Thanks.”

“No worries. Have a wonderful day, you two.”

Harry picks up the toy train before they leave Diagon Ally and on Luna's say-so he also picks up a chew toy for a Crup.

Outside, in Muggle London, they say their goodbyes and Harry makes his way alone to a small Muggle shop that sells yarn. After having made the mistake last year he's learned not to buy himself knitwear. Instead he takes the yarn to the Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley insists he stays for dinner and Harry spends the evening with Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, who tell him stories about about Ginny and her training for the game against Viktor Krum's team, Zimata Idva.

When he finally returns to Grimmauld Place he feels exhausted, but unlike this morning it's a good kind of exhausted.

Kreacher has cooked and left the food in the fridge and Harry feels a little guilty that he hadn't been here to eat it. There's a pear tart, though, because it's Saturday and Harry cuts himself a piece and scoops on a dollop of sour cream.

When he seats himself at the table, desert and tea and Draco's book within range, he almost loses his nerve, because writing in Draco's Book, pouring his own soul into it even though Draco doesn't want him to, well, in truth Harry isn't sure what that makes him.

“He's still my responsibility.” He tells the teapot after a while of staring at the book. This isn't about control and it's not about power, Harry knows himself enough to be sure. It's about trust and it's about pulling Draco out of the mess he's in, like a doctor saving someone who is trying to kill themselves.

Harry takes a moment to pick the right memory for today.  

>   
> 
> _November 7 th 1998._
> 
> The first official Hogsmead Weekend happens in the start of November. Harry's eighteen year old classmates can go to the Wizard village when ever they want, but there is something nostalgic and special about coming here with the rest of the hundreds of excited students, seeing the streets crowded and the shops filled.
> 
> After a couple of hours Harry, Ron and Hermione settles in The Three Broomsticks and Harry goes to get them each a glass of Pumpkin Mead. He bumps into Blaise Zabini at the bar.
> 
> “Harry Potter.” Zabini greets with a bright smile that tells Harry that this is probably not Zabini's first refill. “Don't you look all healthy and bright-eyed.”
> 
> “Eh, thanks.”Harry says, not even sure it's really a compliment. It's probably more of a statement of facts. “And you look well-dressed and drunk.”
> 
> “I am!” Zabini says loudly, even as he leans into Harry to get closer to Harry's ear. “Drunk, at least. I'm not sure anyone can really be well-dressed when the weather is this wet and cold. I don't do _layers_ that well.”
> 
> “You're here with the rest of your usual clique?” Harry asks, paying for his drinks.
> 
> “Yes, Draco is here.” Zabini says. “As you well know. You have a Location Spell on him, I assume.”
> 
> “That's my job.” Harry agrees.
> 
> “And doesn't that just suit you.” Zabini says, his smile turning a bit too suggestive for Harry's liking. “We're in the back, by the way. You and your friends should join us, see that we're not up to something.”
> 
> “I trust that you're too smart for that.” Harry says, but he still waves at Hermione and Ron to follow and the four of them settle around a long table in the back of the bar, where Draco, Sally-Anne Perks, Milicent Bullstrode and a third year Hufflepuff, who Harry, from her looks, assume is Millicent's little sister.
> 
> “My sister is a big fan of yours.” Milicent Bullstrode tells Harry after a few awkward moments of silence. “She has your poster on her wall back home.”
> 
> “Mili!” The young Hufflepuff girl whines, turning bright red.
> 
> “Really? I'm more of a Viktor Krum fan myself.” Harry says with a smile to the girl. “I'd hang his poster in my Dorm Room, but Malfoy won't let me.”
> 
> “Oh, I'd let you.” Draco says, looking at nothing but his Spiced Alpine Ale. “But knowing how fond you are of him, the poster would probably need a lamination spell.”
> 
> “Draco!” Milicent is the one to whine this time, covering her sister's ears much too late. Across from Harry Hermione splutters into her glass.
> 
> “I would have thought Krum was your type, too, Draco.” Blaize Zabini says with a wide smile. “A dark-haired, muscular Quidditch _Hero_ like him.”
> 
> “I'm going to curse you in your sleep.” Draco says coldly, but Harry knows it's all bark. In fact Draco seems to be more fond of Zabini than Harry remembers from their previous years, maybe because Zabini is the only other returning boy from Draco's old House and the only one who understands Draco's ambitious nature and need for recognition.
> 
> Milicent and her sister are the first to leave them, since the younger students have a curfew at nine o'clock. Ron and Hermione leave shortly after, asking if Harry is sure he won't come with them.
> 
> “Nah, I'll stay.” Harry says, giving Hermione a one-armed hug and Ron a pat on the upper arm. “I'll send a distress call if they try to attack me in my intoxicated state.”
> 
> “Okay. We'll see you in the morning.” Hermione says and right then Harry is pretty sure Hermione plans on knocking on his and Draco's door before dawn, just to make sure Harry has not become a victim of foul play during the night.
> 
> As soon as Ron and Hermione leaves Draco seems to loosen up a little, which Harry finds more interesting than he probably should. Harry knows, in theory, that he is one of the people Draco spends most of his time with, not to mention that Harry is probably the only one Draco shares his memories from his time as a Death Eater with, but that happens mostly in the dark and they never discuss it outside the Dorm Room. To think that Draco has come to consider Harry as part of his comfort zone is a revelation that Harry wasn't expecting to have tonight. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's because Draco always acts bolder flanked by a couple of Slytherins. What ever the reason, it's been a long time sine Harry has seen Draco this lose and relaxed, smile on his face as he leans back in his chair.
> 
> “The two-way is about power and stamina, but the three-way is all about technique.” Blaise Zabini explains to Sally-Anne Perks. It had started out as a discussion of the three-way-duel techniques they had learned the day before, but Harry is pretty sure Perks and Zabini has ventured out on a dangerous path of suggestive innuendoes and Harry isn't getting involved in this one unless they make him. He's much too sober for that, having switched to Butterbear after Ron and Hermione left.
> 
> “I guess it's one of those things you won't know if you like unless you've tried it.” Perks says with a wicket smile and without taking her eyes off Zabini, adds, “Wouldn't you say so, Draco?”
> 
> “You're drunk.” Draco warns and Sally-Anne turns her head to raise an eyebrow at him.
> 
> “And you're not?” She presses.
> 
> Instead of answering Draco empties the glass of Pumpkin Mead Harry had provided when he gave the last round. Harry watches the movement of his throat, the way it bobs as Draco swallows. He probably should feel like a creep for doing it, but Harry has spent so much of his youth watching Draco that it has become second nature at this point. Apparently that goes both ways, because when Harry's eyes moves from Draco's throat to his face, it's just in time to catch Draco's eyes before they flicker away.
> 
> “Potter, you've interrogated people.” Perks says, pulling Harry's attention. “Wouldn't you say Draco here is acting highly suspicious, evading questions like that?”
> 
> “I'll exercise my right not to answer that.” Harry says, running the pad of his thumb over the rim of his bottle. Across the table he sees Draco's eyes following the movement. “I'd rather stay on Malfoy's good side.”
> 
> “Interesting.”
> 
> “That I want to stay on his good side?”
> 
> “That you think he has one.” Perks clarifies.
> 
> “You know I'm sitting right here.” Draco objects, earning him a comforting pad on the shoulder from Zabini.
> 
> “Shush, Draco. You had your chance to join.” Perks says, “So you think Draco is actually a good guy?”
> 
> “I spoke for him at his trial, I'm risking my job and reputation by vouching for him.”
> 
> “And in return you get nothing, except Draco's prissy company twentyfourseven.”
> 
> “I don't follow him to the bathroom.” Harry points out.
> 
> “Don't tell me Gryffindors are prudish.” Sally-Anne says. “We still need a third member.”
> 
> “For your duel club?” He asks, because being purposely obtuse is not as incriminating as dodging questions. Across the table Draco actually lets out a faint laugh. Harry turns his eyes on him, almost expecting to see one of Draco's condescending, little smirks, but instead he finds Draco's smile soft and his eyes warm and dark as they meet Harry's.
> 
> “You don't want to get into anything with these two, Potter.” Draco tells him and drops his gaze, but the hint of a smile stays and his fingers are tapping at the side of his empty glass. “None of them believe in fair play.”
> 
> “I believe in many forms of play, Draco.” Zabini sounds almost affronted. “And Sally doesn't have to join, I'm willing to discuss composition.”
> 
> Harry feels the mouthful of Butterbear go down the wrong way and he has to cough.
> 
> “That's my queue to leave.” Draco announces and gets to his feet. He slips on his dark coat and turns to Harry. “Are you going to follow me home?”
> 
> The walk back to the Castle is dark, even with both their wands casting light on the road, and Harry speaks with out even thinking, because it's dark and because it's just the two of them. “I've never seen you drinking before.”
> 
> There's a soft snort from Draco next to him. “I'm surprised there are still things you haven't seen me do.” Draco says, sounding amused. “Go on. Tell me what else you saw me doing tonight that you've never seen me do before.”
> 
> Harry feels ambushed, but quickly regains his bearings; He can be honest with Draco when he wants to, especially here in the dark.
> 
> “I've never seen you say something nice to a Hufflepuff, the ex-Hufflepuffs from our year not included.”
> 
> “I have, though,” Draco says, “I said nice things to Cedric Diggory.”
> 
> “That was just to get to me.” Harry points out just as Draco slips and stumbles. Harry barely manages to catch him, fingers closing around Draco's upper arm hard enough to leave bruises. For a while they stand there, face to face, and with a small jolt Harry realizes that Draco is doing nothing to move out of Harry's grip. Harry has to turn his head and start walking to keep himself from doing something stupid.
> 
> “I've never seen you laugh at something I said.” He says as Draco catches up.
> 
> “I've done that loads of time.” Draco argues, sounding oddly pleased with something. Maybe it's the fact that Harry's reaction to tension is to blush and run away like a third year.
> 
> “Only in a mean way.”
> 
> “And what way did I laugh at you tonight, then?”
> 
> Harry frowns, unsure if Draco is teasing. “Like you actually thought I was funny.”
> 
> “Well, you can be.” Draco says, “What else?”
> 
> Harry considers it. There are plenty of things he could say. I've never seen you buy a round of drinks, I've never seen you stick your finger into your glass and suck it clean, I've never seen you nurse a bear, I've never seen you look at me like you wanted to fuck my brains out.
> 
> “Nothing else.” Harry says instead, because he's sober and because he's pretty sure Draco isn't, not enough to censor what he says or be responsible for the flirting tone in his voice, at least.
> 
> “A Gryffindor chickening out.” Draco says, making it sound like he's impressed. “I'd never thought I'd see the day.”
> 
> Harry doesn't deny it. It amuses him that Draco would think Harry is stopping because he is afraid to go on, but Harry thinks that says more about Draco than it does about himself.
> 
> “I'm not a Gryffindor any more,” Harry says, pushing the gates to the grounds open enough that the two of them can slip through.
> 
> “That doesn't mean you lost that bravery of yours, does it?” Draco says, as he slips through the gates behind Harry. “What if I promised you a prize?”
> 
> Draco's tone is so suggestive that Harry actually shutters and right then he doesn't want to be the responsible one at all. He wants to lean over and kiss that stupid grin off Draco's face and grind against him. He wants to spend the night with a naked Draco, touching and kissing and exploring, but he can't. Because the last thing they need at this point is the guilt of meaningless sex cluttering up the air between them.
> 
> “I don't need a prize to be honest with you, Malfoy.” Harry says as they walk through a courtyard that hasn't seen a clean-up since The Battle, rubble still spread between patches of moss and grass. “I think our nightly conversations proves that.”
> 
> “I suppose.” Draco says after a while. His voice is unreadable, but Harry thinks maybe he's hurt. Harry most likely would be too, if it had been the other way around. Even if Draco hadn't really been offering and Harry hadn't really turned him down, it's still enough to leave a sore spot because of who they are. Their past is always going to make things difficult, make them suspicious of each other and make it hard to open up like this, but Harry knows Draco would feel a hundred times worse in the morning if Harry went along with it.
> 
> “If you want we can stop having them.” Harry says, realizing too late what he's offering, because if Draco said that he wanted to stop their conversations, Harry is sure he would fall apart within weeks.
> 
> “Merlin, no.” Draco says thankfully and Harry can actually hear the revolt in his voice. “I need those conversations for my therapy.”
> 
> “That's really fucked up.” Harry says and pushes the door to the Entrance Hall open.
> 
> “Well, I guess you'd know.” Draco says and leads the way to their Dorm Room.


	25. October 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : This chapter contains strong images.

It's the day after the new moon when Athelstan from Control of Magical Creatures knocks on the door to Harry's office. 

She's a Gryffindor from Percy Weasley's year, absolutely fearless and one of the only people on Level 4 who seems to give a crap about how Werewolves are treated, even if she has a better reason to fear them than most. Harry is never going to forget the night Athelstan got the three long, parallel scars, that starts somewhere within her dark curls, running the entire length of the left side of her face and ending halfway down her throat. It had been new moon then, too, Harry remembers. The night the M2s and Creature Control brought in Fenrir Greyback.

“I've got a young one over in Cardif.” She says, looking at him with big brown eyes. “It's a bit more trouble than my team know what to do with.”

“Magical parents?” Harry guesses, because it usually is when Athelston knocks on Harry's door. Creature Control might have the authority to subdue werewolves and deal with frightened Muggles, but when there are angry, curse-flinging parents involved they are obligated to call in the Aurors. Usually, though, Athelston goes straight to Harry's office, knowing Harry is the most likely to give a werewolf a decent treatment.

“Yeah. They think we're going to put her down.” She explains, brows drawn together. “We're not, I promise.”

“How old?” Harry asks.

“What?”

“How old is the kid?”

“Um,” Athleston says, opening the file in her hand. “Ten.”

Harry sighs. Luckily the number of bitten kids under the age of eleven is a low one, but it's not unheard of. If she had been a Hogwarts student Harry could have taken her straight to Hogwarts to get her settled in the small group of cottages that's been build at the outskirts of The Forbidden Forest to accommodate the number of bitten students that popped up in the wake of the war.

McGonagall initially wanted them to stay an integrated part of the regular Houses, but after numerous complaints from anxious parents she had placed the kids under Hagrid's watchful eye, in what the kids would come to call The Howlery. Currently they're counting thirteen.

“I'll call McGonagall, see if the girl is signed for the coming school year.” Harry says. “If she is, I'll see about getting her an early letter of admittance, something we can give to the parents as a proof that we have plans to keep their daughter alive.”

“That is-” Athelston blinks. “That's such a good plan, why didn't I think of that?”

Harry doesn't say that he only thought of it, because he knows how much that Letter can mean to a person. Instead he just continues. “If things work out, I'll pull a few strings, see if we can get her into The Howlery early.”

“What do you need from us?” Athelston asks.

“One of your brightest people.”

“Sure.”

“To go to Diagon Ally and buy me an Owl,” Harry says and digs eighteen Galleons out of his pocket. “And a Chocolate Frog.”

Athelston blinks at him a few times, but then just sighs and leaves Harry's office.

Four hours later Harry is standing at the gates of Hogwarts with Emmaline Brody at his side, watching the huge form of Rubeus Hagrid greet them both from afar. Harry kneels down to be eye level with Emmaline.

“I want you to write your parents every week, understood?” Harry says and hands her the cage with the Tawny owl. “And if you ever need anything and are afraid to ask your parents, this owl knows how to find me, okay?”

Emmaline nods with a brave face and Harry knows she would have been a Gryffindor if she had been allowed to be sorted.

“Here.” He says, holding out the Chocolate Frog. “On my first day on the Hogwarts Express I had my first Chocolate Frog. I know you've probably had one before, but it's a bit of a ritual for me. Also,” Harry adds and gives her a smile. “Chocolate really does help when you feel sad.”

That night Harry almost doesn't take out the book. There is a memory that keeps surfacing, brought on by today's events, but Harry isn't sure he has the strength to give it to Draco's Book, not even with a whole pot of tea.

When he finally does sit down with the book, it's in the Study, because he needs the familiar setting of his and Draco's room to find the strength to write it and because the memory absolutely doesn't belong in the the light and warmth of the kitchen. 

 

>   
> 
> _November 11th 1998_
> 
> In the year Harry and the other M2s were at Hogwarts they had 162 missions combined. Some of them were _Search and Rescue_ , some were _Capture or Kill_. Five of them were disasters.
> 
> Harry takes the failures better than some on the team, but every mistake is a blow that sets him back. Every time they lose an objective it takes a week's worth of midnight conversations with Draco to chase the nightmares and the feeling of shame away.
> 
> The night Harry returns from Hatfield is one of the worst. They leave Katie Bell with Alicia Spinnet in St. Mungo's and he, Pavati and Neville Apparate to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. When they walk up the stairs to the Entrance Hall they are greeted by McGonagall.
> 
> “Should I tell Professor Flickwick to wake them up?” McGonagall asks, but Harry just shakes his head.
> 
> “I'll do it myself.” Harry says and sends Neville and Pavati off with gentle pads on their backs, to comfort them and to calm himself, before he goes to the Ravenclaw Common Room to meet Professor Flickwick.
> 
> “Such horrible news.” Flickwick says, and it's much kinder than what Harry deserves, because that makes it sound like it hadn't been Harry's fault at all. Which it wasn't, technically, because all the M2s did wrong was to arrive too late. But what did that matter when a whole Muggle family of five and two Wizards, who tried to protect them, had just been slaughtered by Fenrir.
> 
> Harry wakes up the girl first. She's a tiny first year, with blond corkscrew curls and freckles all over her sleepy face. Harry almost cries again when she does. Instead he picks her up, even though she's much too old to be carried and he's much to tired to carry her. He still does, lifts her to his hip and carries her to the third year boy's Dormitory.
> 
> When he leaves the two siblings, now orphans, Harry feels like a failure, mostly because the only comfort he can give them is that their parents died as heroes and both children will have to live for a good many years before they're old enough to understand that something like that actually matters.
> 
> Draco is always awake when Harry returns, no matter what time. Tonight he's even out of his bed, sitting in the windowsill and Harry is sure Draco watched them return. Considering how long it's taken Harry to come up to the room, Draco must have guessed how things went.
> 
> “What happened?” Draco asks, grey eyes narrowing as Harry takes of the fresh robes McGonagall had brought down for him, to reveal that the rest of his clothes are torn and covered in blood.
> 
> “We caught him. Alicia is in St. Mungo's. She'll be okay. She wasn't bit or anything, just - unlucky.” Harry continues stripping, modesty gone completely out the window. He stops at his pants and goes into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar as he showers. When he returns Draco has gone to bed, leaning against his headboard with his covers bunched up around him. His hair is short these days and it makes him look younger, somehow, less like his father, and Harry thinks it's on purpose.
> 
> “I don't want to go to sleep.” Harry says, getting into his own bed, pulling the covers to his chest. He hasn't bothered putting on a t-shirt. He knows he'll wake up drenched in sweat in a couple of hours anyway.
> 
> “That bad?” Draco asks.
> 
> “That bad.” Harry says. “He hadn't just killed them.”
> 
> The silence stretches for a while and then Draco turns off the light and Harry hears him getting under his covers and closing the curtains around his bed. Harry has left his open like he usually does.
> 
> “One night over Christmas.” Draco says quietly. “They brought in Luna Lovegood.”
> 
> Harry shifts in the bed so he'd be facing Draco if it wasn't for Draco's curtains. It takes a while before Draco continues, maybe to make sure Harry has a chance to stop him if he doesn't want to hear this, maybe because he's lost his nerve. When he does continue his voice is dull and detached.
> 
> “Fenrir would come and go as he wanted, but mostly he'd be out, hunting down Muggle-borns and blood-traitors. One night he and his men turned up with the Lovegood girl, they'd taken her from The Hogwarts Express. I thought he was going to kill her at first, but then I realised he was going to have his way with her and then turn her. My mother got so angry, I've never seen her like that. She threw Greyback out of the Manor, actually blew him out of the window. He's a big guy, you know, but mother didn't care. He wasn't allowed in the house for a month after that and she never let him near the dungeons.”
> 
> Harry has no idea what to say. He's talked to Luna about her time in the dungeon at Malfoy Manor and he saw her memories during the trials. He's pretty sure Luna isn't aware that she had been saved by Narcissa that night. It would have been a good card for Narcissa to have, saving Luna like that, but Harry is sure no one mentioned it at the trials.
> 
> “Does she know?” Harry asks. “Does Luna know what Fenrir would have done to her?”
> 
> “I doubt it. I hope not. That's some nightmares right there.”
> 
> “But you knew?”
> 
> “Lets just say I've seen him look at people like that before.” Draco says and then falls silent. Harry considers his words for a while, the dark tone in his voice.
> 
> “Did he ever look at you like that.?” Harry ventures. To his surprise Draco just snorts.
> 
> “He might have. I sure as hell wasn't planning on being alone in a room with him, but I had a Manor full of House-elves. He would have been turned inside out if he had touched me with even a single claw.” Draco laughs darkly. “My mother, of course, would have locked him up until the full moon and made a rug out of him when he turned.”
> 
> Somehow the image of Fenrir as a wolf-shaped rug is enough that Harry manages to fall asleep at some point. He imagines Fenrir in a high security cell, deep within Azkaban. He imagines the other prisoners taking his life at the full moon to make a warm fleece.
> 
> Then he thinks of Karla and Ben Jameson growing up with out their parents and realises that not even that ending would be satisfying.

 


	26. October 13

When Harry comes home from work Tuesday he walks down the hall to get Draco's Book and that is the last thing Harry remembers until he wakes up on his bed five hours later. Harry isn't sure if Draco is trying to keep him away from the Book or if he's trying to show Harry how horrible it is when someone takes away your choice, but Harry thinks it's probably a bit of both.

“Don't do this!” He writes as soon as he sits down in the study. “You have to trust me, Draco. You have to let me finish this.”

Harry wakes up half an hour later in his shower, clothes and hair drenched and he is shivering. He dries off and goes to make tea, finding Draco's Book on the kitchen counter. Harry isn't surprised. If Draco could, he would probably have made Harry hide the book or made Harry mail it to South Africa and Harry would probably never have found it again, but Draco isn't the one in control, that much is clear. If he was Harry's words wouldn't be absorbed at all, but they are, because the spell of the Horcrux wants them.

“I'm sorry,” Harry writes after taking his tea to the table and swinging his legs over the bench. Harry feels like a piece of shit, but Draco doesn't stop him this time.

   __

> _November 19 th1998_
> 
> Draco sits in the library when Harry finds him.
> 
> “Isn't this getting a bit old, even for you, Potter?” Draco asks without taking his eyes off the paper he's writing for Arithmancy, but even with Harry disturbing his homework, Draco thankfully sounds more amused than annoyed.
> 
> “What do you mean?” Harry asks and takes a seat opposite Draco, making Draco lift his head and level a sceptical stare on Harry.
> 
> “Potter, I know you don't have to follow me around to be able to know where I am.” Draco says and Harry can't help but smile at that. “And you are distracting me. Please go be elsewhere.”
> 
> “Believe it or not, Malfoy,” Harry says, opening his bag “I actually came here to study.”
> 
> “Yeah right.” Draco snaps. “You already have a job. You have no reason to spend your precious time poring over old books.” Draco sounds bitter and Harry actually kind of understands him, because unlike Harry, Draco actually do need top marks in all his classes, and even then he might never get a proper job in the Wizard world.
> 
> “You know, Victor Krum was the world's best Seeker when he was at school.” Harry says and pushes a peppermint flavoured sugar quill across the table to Draco. Draco eyes it suspiciously. “He was a hero and made a ton of galleons. But he didn't drop out of school.”
> 
> “With all the Bludgers he's taken to the head, he probably had to stay just to manage basic spells.” Draco says and adds “Why are we always talking about Krum?”
> 
> “I thought you liked him.” Harry says innocently.
> 
> “Sod off.” Draco says and instead of reaching for the sugar quill he does a nonverbal summon and catches the quill under the table, just as Madam Pince sticks her head around a bookshelf and stares at them.
> 
> Harry gives her an apologetic smile and hurries to take his half written paper on Concealment Charms out of his bag. It takes a while before she drifts off again and Harry actually manages to add half a page of text to his paper.
> 
> “You know, at first I though this arrangement was going to be painful and challenging for the both of us.” Harry whispers.
> 
> Draco snorts and puts the tip of his peppermint quill in his mouth. “You mean it's not?”
> 
> “We haven't tried to jinx each other yet.” Harry offers, earning another snort from Draco.
> 
> “Maybe you haven't. My damn wand still won't work on you.” At that Harry lifts an eyebrow and Draco gives him a small smirk.
> 
> “Can I see it?” Harry whispers, reaching for Draco's wand that's lying next to his book on Advanced Practice of Code Spelling, but Draco snatches it away before Harry can touch it.
> 
> “Don't!” Draco snarls and then instantly calms himself, muttering “It takes for-bloody-ever to remind it who it's supposed to be loyal to.”
> 
> “How long did it take you to win it back?”
> 
> “A month or so.” Draco whispers. “But you'd had it for a while and I hadn't used it for almost three months.”
> 
> “Still.” Harry muses, eyes on the chapter about the Fidelius Charm. “It must have really liked me.”
> 
> Draco lets out a disbelieving huff of air, but he doesn't disagree. Instead he whispers, “I have to admit, for a while there I didn't think they'd give it back to me.”
> 
> “The Wizengamot trusted you to do the right thing with it.” Harry says, snapping a bite off his own sugar quill. “So did I.”
> 
> “Is that so?” Draco says then, voice suddenly colder. “Is that why you volunteered to be my warden? Because you trust me so much.”
> 
> “I'm not your warden, Malfoy.” Harry says, not lifting his eyes from his paper. “Do you really still think I hang around you to keep an eye on you?”
> 
> “Stop pretending that it matters what I think.” Draco is getting to his feet, putting books and parchment into his messenger bag. “I just follow your lead, remember?”
> 
> And Draco probably means the trials and the deal Harry made on his behalf, but he's also clearly talking about the night they were walking back from Hogsmead, because he continues with, “I'm not you, Potter. I don't get to pick and chose my life any more, unlike you. I just have this one year in this bubble where I get to feel slightly normal and accepted and when that is over I'm going to have to go back out there and face everyone who hates my guts.”
> 
> “Mr. Malfoy!” Madam Pince shrieks, but Draco doesn't even turn to apologize, not to her or the dozen of other students looking at them.
> 
> “You know why Pansy didn't come back, right?” Draco continues, venom in his voice. “Because she knew you'd all tie her to a stake as soon as you saw her, for what she did at the Battle.”
> 
> “No one would do that.” Harry objects.
> 
> “Of course they would, Potter. Wake up.” And Draco is stalking out of the Library, sugar quill in one hand and his wand in the other. The students start to talk loudly, until Madam Pince shoots them all looks that could kill and the Library falls silent.

 


	27. October 14

Wednesday Harry sits through a seminar on wand safety. It's all very basic and Harry is exhausted, but he does his best not to fall asleep. Luckily the afternoon is filled with a practical part and he's in a fairly good mood when the instructor dismisses them for the day.

After changing his clothes Harry grabs a rat from the freezer, de-thaws it with his wand and goes to fetch Buckbeak. Harry needs to get away as much as Buckbeak does, anything to force his thoughts away from Draco. Somewhere in the back of his mind Hermione's voice reminds him not to hide from his problems, because it'll only make them worse, but he pushes her aside, because it's not like he's going to have another breakdown. Not over Draco Malfoy.

They rise high into the air before heading south, Harry's preferred route, and they spend much of the day flying around, catching a current and drifting.

Flying like this feels amazing and Harry doesn't know why he doesn't do it more often. It's a completely different rush than he gets on a broom, the feel of the muscles moving between his legs, the erratic ups and downs and the fact that he can leave the steering to Buckbeak and just let go of all control.

Harry knows many Wizards sees Hippogriffs as pets, but Harry sees it more like a partnership. Buckbeak is intelligent and proud and Harry had to win his respect and later his affection. In that way he reminds Harry of Draco, but while Draco might be as stubborn and proud as a Hippogriff, he isn't a beast.

Of course, if Harry is being honest with himself, and that is a whole lot easier up here miles away from Draco's Book, he's not even sure what Draco is at this point.

After Draco had started replying to him it had been easy to let himself believe that Draco and the book was the same thing, but Draco's failed attemp at keeping Harry from writing had proven to Harry that they weren't the same thing at all. There was the Horcrux with it's spell and Darkness and then there was Draco. Harry hadn't be able to tell the two apart before, because the book knew things and it _felt_ human and the revolt Harry had felt in the beginning at writing in Draco's Book had disappeared as soon as Draco had started writing back at him.  The book knew all it needed to get into his head, after all. It _did_ have a part of Draco and Draco has always been able to slip under Harry's skin.

“You’re in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux.” Hermione had told him once, talking about Tom Riddle's Diary. So maybe Harry never actually had a chance, considering that it's Draco. Even when Harry hadn't been writing in it he had been around the book. He had slept with it under his damn pillow, for Merlin's sake.

“I hope I'm doing the right thing here.” Harry tells Buckbeak. Buckbeak lets out a sharp sound and starts drifting back towards London.

Flying with Buckbeak is what has brought up the memory that Harry decides to write in Draco's Book today. Not only is it a happy one, but it's also important, because Draco gave Harry a promise that day, and Harry thinks it's about time that Draco was reminded of that.  

> _November 21st 1998._
> 
> “Hey, why don't we see if we can get a friendly Quidditch match going today.” Ron says the third Saturday of November. “No House colours. Mixed teams, sixth, seventh and us.”
> 
> “That's a brilliant idea.” Harry says with a grin. The returning students from Harry's year hasn't been allowed to join the House Teams, since they aren't part of any Houses, and Harry hadn't expected that he would miss it as much as he has. The prospect of a game of Quidditch, especially one for laughs, is exactly what Harry needs right now. “I'm sure McGonagall would let us. She'll approve anything that mixes the Houses.”
> 
> They manage to gather enough students for three teams and after having sorted them into their preferred positions, they draw lot for team placement. The Seekers are the last to draw and Harry, Ginny and Malfoy gather around Hermione , who holds up three straws that's been coloured in one end.
> 
> Harry had been more than mildly surprised that Draco had agreed to play Seeker today. He had thought that Draco would be eager to study with no one to disturb him, but then Draco had sat down next to Harry in the Great Hall during lunch, while he and Ron had been recruiting people and, with a small smirk, had agreed to join them.
> 
> While the teams move aside to talk strategy Hermione quickly transfigures a blank page from Dean Thomas' sketch book into a tournament schedule, showing when each team plays.
> 
> Harry is teamed with Lisa Turpin and two sixth year boys, Hufflepuff and Rawenclaw, as chasers. Their Beaters are both broad shouldered seventh year Slytherins and their Keeper is a determined looking sixth year Gryffindor girl, who Harry has a hard time placing until he hears her last name is Brown.
> 
> Hermione comes over with a yellow cloth for colour reference and Harry spells their mismatched Quidditch gear bright yellow. Across the field Ron and Draco are sorting out their team's blue gear and Sally-Anne Perks looks positively glowing when she spells her team's gear a perfect Slytherin emerald green, a shade darker than their assigned lawn green
> 
> Harry can't help but notice that Ginny's hair looks even more like wildfire when contrasted with green. She laughs at something and brushes her hair into a messy ponytail with her fingers and Harry tears his eyes away.
> 
> Instead they land on Draco just as Blue and Green teams go in the air for the first match and he can't really think of a good reason to stop staring as the graceful form of Draco Malfoy slaloms through the goal hoops.
> 
> It's clear that it's been a while since Draco was on a broom, but after a few laps of the pitch and a few sharp dives he seems to have found his bearings and worked out the quirks in his broom.
> 
> “First up is Green versus Blue.” Comes the gleeful voice of one of the Patil twins. Harry can't tell which one, because they're both up there, manning the commentator's box. “Each match is scheduled to last no longer than _one_ hour and if the Snitch is not caught by then, tough luck.”
> 
> “A win by Snitch will earn the team three points, where a win on Quaffle points alone will earn you two.”
> 
> “A tie gives both team one point and the team with the most points at the end of the day is the winner.”
> 
> “There's no prize, though.”
> 
> “Honour is your prize.”
> 
> “Honour and bragging rights.”
> 
> “How about a kiss from the commentators?” A green-clad boy calls, as he stops on his broomstick right in front of the twins.
> 
> “Don't be crude!” one of the twins says, just as the other says, “I swear I'll hex you if you try, Birkley!”
> 
> Harry laughs and next to him one of the Slytherin Beaters say, “She would, too.”
> 
> “That's why no one dares to go near you Patils.” The other Beater says and Harry turns in surprise. The first Beater to speak raises his eyebrows at Harry and then smirks at his confusion.
> 
> “They're my cusins.” he says. “But our mothers were close. I was practically raised with them.”
> 
> “Good to know.” Harry grins and takes the hand offered.
> 
> “Piara Patil. I know who you are, of course.” The Beater says and gives Harry's hand a firm shake. “You went to the Yule Ball with Pavati and lived to see another day.”
> 
> Somehow he makes it sound like that's Harry's greatest achievement and Harry finds that he quite likes this Slytherin bloke.
> 
> “I was a gentleman.” Is all Harry can think to say and Piara Patil laughs, a velvet soft chuckle that leaves Harry confused.
> 
> Watching Draco and Ginny chase down the snitch side by side turns out to be even more confusing.
> 
> Harry has never had the chance to appreciate that Draco is an excellent flier. Draco was always good, Harry acknowledged that, but it was a bitter acceptance that Harry had used to fuel his own efforts in the Quidditch Pitch when playing against him. He has watched and analysed Draco's play style for years and one thing is certain: Draco is holding back.
> 
> Competitive is a very pretty word for what Draco can be and Harry has more than once woken up with his whole body sore after a Gryffindor/Slytherin match.
> 
> Right now Draco isn't even trying to knock Ginny off her broom.
> 
> Ginny, on the other hand, never holds back and Harry is pretty sure Draco is going to have plenty of bruises tonight from where Ginny's shoulder and elbows has bumped him. Harry realizes much too late that he is thinking about checking Draco's skin for bruises with his fingertips and he tries hard not to blush, but fails.
> 
> As the game goes on Harry's eyes stay on the two Seekers. They are both so different, like ice and fire flying side by side, but Harry knows it's not that simple. Draco isn't ice. He's not cold and cruel the way he used to be, or maybe Harry has never been able to see past the surface of Draco, which is even worse.
> 
> When ever the Snitch is out of sight the two Seekers drift apart and Harry finds that most of the time his eyes stay on the blue uniform and blond hair of Draco.
> 
> Ten minutes into Harry's own game against Draco's team it starts to rain.
> 
> At first it's just fat drops that feels icy as they hit the back of his neck, but it doesn't take long until it picks up and Harry is drenched.
> 
> They've only seen the Snitch once throughout the entire game and after a short chase both he and Draco had lost sight of it. Since then they have been drifting above the other players, circling the pitch and each other.
> 
> Harry is pretty sure Ron and Draco's team is in the lead, but he doubts they'll manage to finish the game. Most of the people playing today aren't hard-core Quidditch players and the games were supposed to be fun. Getting struck by lightning isn't fun.
> 
> Sure enough, as soon as the first lightning strikes over the Forbidden Forest Harry hears a sharp whistle from below and Hermione is calling the players down. Harry lands in the wet grass and Ron lands next to him.
> 
> “I think we should just agree the team with the most points has won.” Ron says and grins when Harry swats his shoulder.
> 
> “I'm sure we can fit in a rematch.” Hermione says with a small smile and her eyes drift over the students running towards the castle, players and spectators alike. With a small frown her eyes find something above them. “Harry.”
> 
> Harry follows her line of sight and sees a blue player high above the pitch. He sighs. “I'll go get him. Get inside,” Harry orders and straps his helmet back on. “I'll see you at dinner.” And he sets off, boots leaving a muddy dent in the wet grass.
> 
> “Come on, Malfoy. The game is over. No need to be a human lightning rod.” He says when he's close enough for Draco to hear.
> 
> “I want to catch the Snitch.” Draco calls back, not looking at Harry.
> 
> There is a loud crack of thunder and Harry flinches involuntarily. “Yeah I get as much. Look, it's not going to leave the pitch, we can get it tomorrow.”
> 
> Draco doesn't move.
> 
> “Why is it suddenly so important?” Harry calls, because surely, nothing is important enough to risk his life over. Draco finally looks at him and Harry looks back. Draco's eyes are wider than normally and rain is dripping off his nose and lashes. Then he smiles.
> 
> “Come on, Potter.” Draco says, tightening his grip around the broom handle. “One last time, you and me.” And he flattens himself against the broom and dives.
> 
> Harry sees the Snitch just a second later and follows Draco down. They fly side by side, chasing a glint of gold and a metallic flutter of tiny wings, blurred by the heavy rain. The snitch reaches the ground and takes flight over the wet strands of grass. The two of them get so close to the wet grass that they are ploughing it up with their boots as they try to avoid the collision.
> 
> As the Snitch suddenly loops around them Harry hits a bad angle to avoid ramming Draco and he rolls over the grass, clutching his broom. The ground is soft enough that Harry barely feels the impact and when he rolls to his feet he sees that Draco has stopped and is waiting for him.
> 
> “Get back on your broom, Potter!” Draco yells and he's laughing, but not the mean laugh Harry has heard so many times. Harry climbs back on his broom and pulls on the handle to follow Draco back up and they split up to look for the Snitch again.
> 
> _This is madness_ , Harry manages to think. He was supposed to get Draco back on the ground, not follow him into a perfect storm. It's just that there is something easy about Draco when he's like this, covered in mud and laughing, and Harry is not ready to let go of it just yet. It reminds him of the night they were walking back from Hogsmead and how badly Harry had wanted to kiss Draco then. It is still a horrible idea, but the reason _why_ is getting harder and harder to remember.
> 
> A few minutes later Harry sees the snitch again and he goes for the dive, feeling Malfoy right behind him. Not willing to make the same mistake again he pulls up on the broom before colliding with the grass, but Malfoy doesn't seem to mind a collision as long as he catches the Snitch and he slides off his broom, rolling over the grass and mud with the Snitch clutched in his hand.
> 
> “You okay?” Harry asks, landing down next to him.
> 
> “Yeah. Don't worry, Potter. I wont break.” Draco says with a laugh.
> 
> _I've seen you break before,_ Harry wants to say, but instead "You promise?" is what comes out of his mouth.
> 
> They're both dirty and drenched, but Malfoy just nods and gives him the widest and most genuine smile Harry has ever seen on his face. “I promise.”

 


	28. October 15

Thursday after lunch there's a knock on Harry's door and Michael Corner sticks his head in.

“Sir?”

Putting down the report he is writing on the Chadian Wizard in customs, Harry takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Wow, it's been a while since anyone called me `Sir´ around here.”

“Well you are still our leader, aren't you?” Michael asks and it takes Harry a moment to realize it's not meant sarcastically. Shit.

“Yes, I am.” He assures Michael and puts his glasses back on. “Sorry I haven't been acting like it much lately.”

“It's fine. Working with the other Aurors has been a learning experience. If nothing else.” There's a tone in Michael's voice though, that tells Harry just how sick the other M2 is of being called out on cases about backfiring wands and parents, who thinks their kid has been poisoned, because the brat has been overdoing it on Puking Pastils.

“Look,” Michael continues. “I just stopped by because I was called in on a case about illegal charm work. I thought you'd like to come, as back up.”

Harry can't imagine why he would. “On a case about illegal charm work?” He asks sceptically, but he takes the case file Michael hands him anyway, opens it and scans the first page.

“I'll get my robes.” He says, pushing his chair back.

 

When Harry and Michael arrives one of the Aurors on site is discussing with a young man, who frankly looks more affronted than anything, that his shop is being searched while he is being subjected to a Hand-bind. The young man rolls his eyes when he sees Harry walking up to him.

“Ah, imagine that. They're really bringing in the big guns for this.” He says. “Still chasing Slytherins, Harry?”

“Piara Patil.”

“You never did trust any of us.”

“I don't place my trust based on House affiliation.” Harry assures him, thinking of Draco.

“No, I guess that's true.” And not for the first time Harry suspects Piara of being a Legilimens, because there's a knowing smile on his ridiculously gorgeous face that Harry really want to jinx off, but he knows better than to mess with a Patil.

Speaking of.

“Harry!” Harry turns around to see Padma Patil pushing past the Auror at the door, dark eyes dangerous.

“Padma.” He greets, but mostly it's to calm her down.

“My cousin hasn't done anything wrong.” She says when she gets close, even though she doesn't bother lowering her voice. “Trust me.”

“You don't think you're a little too close to this case?” Michael asks her, possibly because he's been doing nothing but clean-ups for the better part of two weeks and might have developed a strong death wish. Luckily, the look of murder Padma shoots his way is enough to get him to back down and Padma turns back to Harry.

“Harry, you used to trust me with your life.” She says, voice now low and pleading. “Trust me on _this_.”

And how is Harry supposed to argue with that? In Harry's eyes she and Parvati are still M2s, even if they left the squad right after Hogwarts to help their mother in the shop, and unlike Lisa who is the kind of Ravenclaw that's willing to dance the edges of the rules just to prove how smart she is, Padma had always shown the kind of moral fibre that Harry associates mostly with Hufflepuffs. He sighs and waves Piara over.

With a pleased little smirk Piara holds out his hands to Harry, who undoes the binding spell with out looking him in the eyes. Then Harry turns to the two other Aurors, who looks mildly pissed off and Harry is suddenly very aware that it looks like he just let a suspect go because a pretty girl pleaded with her big brown eyes.

“Who tipped you off?” he asks them and does a wandless, nonverbal summon on the case file. He doesn't intend for it to look impressive, but apparently it does, because one of the Aurors, a younger Wizard just a few years Harry's senior, straightens his back somewhat before answering.

“It got in through proper channels.” Says the Auror, who had also been the one to detain Piara Patil when Harry and Michael had arrived. From the names on the case file Harry assumes he's Auror Briggs.

“Don't you guys have any real cases to work?” Piara Patil asks, and while Harry deep down agrees with his sentiment, he'd wish Piara would shut up, because this isn't actually Harry's case and he needs these two Aurors to be on board.

“This _is_ a real case.” Auror Briggs objects, but his partner holds up her hand to silence him.

“Look, _Auror_ Potter.” She says and the added weight on the Auror part makes Harry sigh, because obviously she had to be one of _them_. The Aurors who doesn't think Harry and the rest of the M2 belong with in the Auror corps. “I know _you lot_ get your cases directly from the Minister, or what not. But the rest of us get our cases from The Pipe. Head Auror Gale signed off on this himself.”

“I'll tell you what, Auror Statham.” Harry says, forcing his face into serious folds. “Auror Corner and I will help you search this store for any charmed jewellery,” behind him Michael lets out an unhappy groan. “but I can assure you, that if Mr. Patil says that his beautiful wares are safe for sale to Muggles, then I have no reason to doubt his word, and neither have you.”

Auror Statham doesn't look happy at all about the offer, but mostly, Harry assumes, it's the fact that Harry is willing to go to any real lengths to prove Piara Patil innocent, that annoys her.

Just to tick her off further he strikes up a conversation with Padma and Piara about how their mothers are doing.

 

 


	29. October 16

Friday Harry wakes up to a world in grey-scale. It takes him a moment to realize that something is wrong and another long moment to realise that it's not the colours of his surroundings that has faded during the night. It's him that is fading.

Another step, Harry thinks, and he'll be falling off into the darkness below.

Sitting down in his study he pulls out parchment and quill, inviting Slughorn over for lunch tomorrow. He knows Slughorn won't be able to refuse, not the chance to boast about having lunch with The Chosen One. Once he has sent one of the lazy owls from the owlery in the backyard away with the letter, he goes back inside and makes tea, adding a generous splash of whiskey into the mug and drinks it down.

“The Christmas break.” Harry writes in Draco's Book. He can almost feel the wire under his feet, shaking, and he takes a deep breath.   

> _December 23 rd 1998_
> 
> Harry wakes up late to find that Draco has already left the room and Harry walks outside to find Ron and Neville in the Common Room, playing Wizard Chess.
> 
> “Morning.” Neville says when he spots Harry. “I think you just missed breakfast.”
> 
> “If you go down to the kitchen I'm coming with you.” Ron says, eyes not leaving the board. “Corner was being a right arse this morning so I went down and had an early breakfast, just to get out of our room. I wouldn’t mind a second breakfast right about now.”
> 
> “What about Hermione?”
> 
> “She went down half an hour ago.” Ron says, taking one of Neville's pawns. “Should be back soon.”
> 
> Not thirty seconds later the round door to the common room swings open and Draco comes sweeping in, followed by Hermione.
> 
> “Malfoy, please. Stop trying so damn hard to be difficult!” she says fiercely, but Draco doesn't slow down. “You're not making this any easier on yourself.” She calls after him as he slams the door to his and Harry's dorm room. Hermione's cheeks are flushed and her eyes hard, but Harry knows the slight tremble in her shoulders means she's more upset than angry.
> 
> “What happened?” Ron demands, but Hermione just shakes her head and her eyes find Harry's, pleading. Harry knows he's going to regret this.
> 
> “Okay, I'll go.” He says and heads for the door Draco slammed not a minute ago.
> 
> Draco is sitting on the windowsill, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them so he can rest his chin between. He looks young and vulnerable like that, but Harry knows better by now. Draco is dangerous when he's hurt, more likely to lash out than he would normally be, so Harry closes the door firmly behind him to make sure Draco knows he's here.
> 
> “Hey, Malfoy.”
> 
> “Fuck off Potter.” Draco's voice is laced with an earnest rage Harry hasn't heard in over a year, maybe even longer.
> 
> “Look, what ever it is, I'm sure Hermione-”
> 
> “Like I give a Kneazle's balls about that-” Draco stops, probably realizing what was about to come out of his mouth. “Why can't you bloody Gryffindors just leave me alone?!”
> 
> Harry almost considers giving Draco the truth, that he's here because he actually cares, but then he remembers that this is Draco Malfoy and he's Harry Sodding Potter and nothing good can ever come of that. He has his hand on the door handle when he hears Draco's voice.
> 
> “How do you do it?” Draco asks and his voice is defeated and bitter at the same time.
> 
> “Do what?”
> 
> Draco doesn't answer, instead he slides off the windowsill and picks up the folded _Prophet_ from his bed. He hands it to Harry.
> 
> Harry hasn't read the _Prophet_ in months. He hasn't had much reason to. Most of what they print is garbage anyway, but Hermione insists on gnawing her way through it every morning regardless.
> 
> Today the front page proclaims a two page spread on how Draco Malfoy is going to be spending the Holidays at Hogwarts, sharply questioning if it's fair that Harry has to stay too, to keep an eye on him.
> 
> “It's every bloody day.” Draco says. “Am I corrupting their kids? Should I be allowed to cast spells? Am I wasting Ministry resources? Are they wearing the same bloody pants as me?”
> 
> “The Redemption Poster-boy” Harry picks the ridiculous nickname out of the article a couple of times and he's sure there is more of the same throughout the rest. It's like they are refusing to use Draco's proper name at all.
> 
> “The first few weeks they would spell out the entire sodding thing every time, `The Poster-boy for the Ministry’s Redemption Plan´. Like it was some bloody title.”
> 
> “Like `The Boy Who Lived´?”
> 
> “Exactly!” Draco says, apparently pleased that Harry has cough on, even if the smile on his face is forced and painful.
> 
> “They're not going to stop writing crap like that.” Harry starts.
> 
> Draco lets out a disdainful snort. “That's helpful Potter, really comforting. You can run along now.”
> 
> “But you're going to get used to it. Eventually.”
> 
> “Get used to it? They won't even write my name.” Draco fixes his stare on the paper in Harry's hand again. “Just that damn Redemption-bollocks. That's all I am now: The Ministry's pet project. They still hate me, but apparently that doesn't mean they can't claim me.”
> 
> “You knew that was the risk. It was the only way to keep you out of Azkaban.” Harry throws the paper back on the bed and takes a step closer to Draco, trying to catch his eyes. “You did what you had to do.”
> 
> “How do you know what I had to do, Potter?” Draco sneers and Harry knows they're not talking about the trails any more.
> 
> “You're right.” Harry says, voice soft. “I only know what you tell me and I'm not sure how much of that has been the truth. But I know what you're capable of.”
> 
> It's not meant to be a dare and even if it had been, there is no way Harry would have thought that Draco Malfoy would try to prove him wrong. Which might be the only reason why Harry doesn't stop Draco when he wraps a hand around the back of Harry's neck and presses his mouth against Harry's.
> 
> It takes Harry an embarrassingly long time to realise Draco is kissing him. The lips against his are demanding and so achingly desperate that Harry instantly dismisses all thoughts of pushing Draco away. Instead he keeps his mouth soft and pliant, hands coming up to cup the side of Draco's jaw.
> 
> Harry should stop this, should take a step back, but instead one of Harry's hands is sneaking it's way to the back of Draco's neck, clutching at soft hair, and the other is pulling Malfoy closer by his shirt. Harry's whole body is begging for more, more contact, more pressure, more of Draco in general, but he controls himself – barely - until Draco, the prick, rubs his groin against Harry's, hands grabbing at Harry's hips for purchase.
> 
> They are both skilled at unravelling each other, but where it has always led to them clashing like thunderclouds in the past, there is no point in pretending that things haven't tilted. At some point Harry has started actually caring about Draco, even if he had done his best to pretend different, had tried because he knows they are bound to hurt each other.
> 
> Maybe Draco comes to the same conclusion, because he breaks off the kiss with a pained moan and pushes himself off Harry.
> 
> “No.” Draco says and Harry can feel hot breath on his lips. “No. Absolutely not.” And then Draco's hands and lips and heat is gone and Harry is left standing there with his mind reeling.
> 
> "Oi, watch it Malfoy!" Comes Ron's voice from behind and Harry whips around to see Ron in the door, head turned to glare after Draco.
> 
> "Was he a dick to you, too?" He asks and Harry feels a rush of relief because Ron hadn't seen anything. He had been just a fraction of a second too late.
> 
> "No." Harry lies. "No, we-" but there must be something completely transparent about the dazed look on his face, because Ron's eyes widen before he obviously dismisses his own conclusion and they narrow instead.
> 
> "Did he jinx you?"
> 
> “I'm hungry.” Harry says and pushes past Ron into the Common Room. Draco isn't anywhere to be seen. “I'll tell you about it on the way.”
> 
> But Harry doesn't. Not that he thinks Ron won't understand. Ron is probably more likely to understand than anyone else Harry knows, because Ron knows exactly how it feels to fall for someone you've spent your youth arguing with, someone who seems completely wrong for you.
> 
> Not that Harry had fallen for Draco, not like that.
> 
> But he could, Harry thinks. There are times where Harry can almost believe that they could work if only they weren't both so broken, but Harry always pushes the idea away, because their relationship is too unbalanced as it is, with Harry having all the power.
> 
> That has been Harry's excuse so far, at least, but then Draco had been the one to initiate the kiss and for a few precious moments Draco had been the one with the power and Harry hadn't even tried to stop him.
> 
> As they walk to the kitchens he asks Ron about the Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw match that's coming up after the Christmas break and Harry has to force himself to pay attention as Ron tells Harry all about how hard Ginny has been drilling the team.
> 
> Harry just nods and does his darnedest not to think about the sound of Draco's needy little moans and the the desperation in his touch. He gives up on paying attention when Ron starts telling him about the Gryffindor Team's new Beater and instead he tries to figure out what his feelings are doing.
> 
> When he waves Ron and Hermione off at the Hogwarts Express a short while later he can feel the fear from earlier returning at full force and this time he does panic.

 


	30. October 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe there's only two weeks left until this is over! To the amazing people who read every chapter day by day and who leaves comments and are just absolutely amazing, I want to thank you guys so much. This was a tough story to write, so much to keep track of and so many ends I need to tie up still, but I'm sure you are all going to love the end part as much as me.

Harry takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. The clock on the wall says it's twenty past one in the night, making it Saturday.

He's almost through the memory of the infamous Christmas break, but he's not even sure he is going to last long enough to finish it. He feels cold and worn, drained really, and for the first time since he formed the plan in his head Harry feels a stab of doubt about his decision. It's not the first time he has let his gut feeling guide him, though. He did the same in Shell Cottage when he debated with himself if he should go after Hallows or Horcruxes.

True, maybe he should have talked his plan over with Hermione, should have consulted Slughorn on the details, but Harry is sure that they would have taken the book from him and perhaps they should have. Perhaps Harry should have given the Book back to The Minister weeks ago or never have written in it to begin with, but Harry had been sure that he could handle it. Just a little more, just enough to get the Memory form Draco about the night he and his father had been attacked. Then just a little bit more, because Harry had missed his and Draco's midnight talks, had missed sharing his fears. Always just one more story, one more memory.

Harry remembers himself, eleven years old, standing in front of the Mirror of Erised night after night, unable to leave the image of his parents. Harry doesn't see himself as a weak man, but he does have his weakness. Love. It always comes back to love. Harry cares too deeply, loves too strongly. He picks up strays – the boy who no one saw, the girl with no friends, the girl who people called strange, the boy who was an easy target - and builds himself the family he never had. Ron and Hermione, Luna and Neville. The M2s, The Weasleys. They are all his family.

Draco had never quite been that, but Harry likes to think they were getting there. They had become friends, at least, and then how was Harry supposed to simply give up on him?

Draco, conveniently, stays silent.

Harry pushes his glasses back on and goes to make a fresh cup of tea. The kitchen is quiet but he can hear Kreacher somewhere in an adjoining room, tonelessly muttering a song to himself, one about murder and mayhem and glory for the Black family.

Instead of spelling the water to boil he waits for the kettle to get there on it's own. It's an electric kettle, but Mr. Weasley has made some adjustments on it so it's fuelled by a spell instead, same as the fridge. It was meant to be used for camping, but Harry quite liked it and made room for it on his kitchen countertop to Kreacher's great annoyance.

He finds a package of coconut macaroons in the kitchen cupboard and stuffs one in his mouth and after short deliberation he snaps a chunk of chocolate off the plate he keeps for emergencies and takes the tea and the rest of his loot back to the study. 

> _December 23 1998 continued_
> 
> Harry doesn't expect to see Draco for the rest of the day. He expects Draco to hide away in the library or to work his frustration out in the Quidditch Pitch, as Harry has seen him do several times now since the start of term. What he doesn't expect is to walk into their room and find Draco sitting on his bed, reading.
> 
> “Lisa was here.” Draco says, not taking his eyes off the pages. “Something about a party.”
> 
> “Oh,” Harry says, feeling tilted. “I already told her no this morning.”
> 
> Draco doesn't seem interested in keeping the conversation going, instead turning a page.
> 
> “I think Sally-Anne has had a bad influence on her.” Harry says, hoping to push Draco back into talking.
> 
> “Because she's a foul Slytherin?” Draco snaps, looking up from his book for the first time.
> 
> Harry meets his cold stare with a smile. “Because she's manipulative and Lisa is crushing on her.” he explains. Draco huffs out his indignation.
> 
> “They just want an excuse to play one of their insipid games that forces people to snog.” Draco says, eyes following Harry as he crosses the room to sit on the edge of his own bed.
> 
> “I'm willing to bet Sally-Anne would dare people to do far worse things than a bit of innocent snogging.” Harry counters.
> 
> “Well, we're eighteen.” Draco says, voice casual as always and Harry can't help but wonder how he does it. “I guess most people our age has done more.”
> 
> “Except those of us who spent the past year in a constant state of fear for our lives.”
> 
> “Except us, of course.” Draco says with a shrug and Harry hadn't actually meant his words to include Draco, but Draco had included himself like it wasn't a big deal.
> 
> For a moment their eyes meet and Harry tries desperately to find something to say, something that outweighs the confession Draco just gave him so causally, but he comes up blank. Then the Auror badge in Harry's pocket starts to vibrate and Harry pulls his eyes away, Draco clearing his throat.
> 
> “It's Alicia.” Harry says, frowning. He presses the back of the badge to the notepad on his bedside table and a few lines of Alicia's handwriting appears on the pad. “She's located the Carrows.”
> 
> “Are you sure?” Draco demands, putting down his book.
> 
> “Alicia is.”
> 
> Draco is out of his bed, grabbing his black school robes from the back of his chair. “I'm coming with you.”
> 
> “No you're not.” Harry says, startled. “You're not an Auror.”
> 
> “Neither are you, Potter.” Draco snaps. “You're just a kid who gets off on risking his life. But it'll be less at risk if I'm there. I know them. I know how they work, how they think.”
> 
> Harry blinks, so confused that it actually takes him a few seconds to understand what Draco is saying. Harry never gave Slytherins much credit during his first six years at Hogwarts, but since then he's learned that if you give a Slytherin someone to care about they will be as brave as any Gryffindor, as quick-minded as any Ravenclaw and as determined as any Hufflepuff, just to keep that person safe. It would seem, through all of this, Harry has made himself that person for Draco.

“You saved my life that night.” Harry writes.

“And now you are throwing it away.” Comes the reply and Harry should be relieved to see Draco finally replying, but he's too worn to muster the emotion.

“I have a plan, you know. I usually do.” Harry writes. “It would be nice if you would trust me for once.”

“You think this is about me not trusting you?” Draco writes back. “Is that because I didn't come running to you when people were trying to kill me?”

“I could have helped you.” Harry scribbles and his handwriting is so horrible he can barely read the words himself.

“Or you could have gotten yourself killed, you idiot. When are you going to stop risking your life, so I can-”

Harry stares at the paper, heartbeat pounding in his ears. “So you can what, Draco?”

“So I can trust that you won't die on me, too.” Comes the reply, but the letters are gone again so quickly that Harry just barely manages to read them. Closing his eyes, Harry puts the tips of his fingers on the page.

“I'm not planning to die tonight.”

“Because you are The Man Who Can't Die?”

“Something like that.” Harry writes, managing a small smile, even though Draco can't see it.

Five hours later Harry wakes up with a fever.

His throat is parched and his skin is burning and he's so dizzy he can't even sit up in his bed. He tries reaching for his wand, but he can barely lift his arm. When he finally manages to close his fingers around the smooth wooden handle he tries to cast an Aguamenti in the cup on this night stand, but he doesn't have the strength for the spell to work and the darkness drags him back under.

Harry wakes again, shivering from cold. He's faintly aware that he needs his covers, but he's kicked them to the floor and he can't muster the strength to reach for them. He still has his wand in hand, but the Accio does absolutely nothing. Hoarsely he calls out for Kreacher and the House-elf pops up by the foot of Harry's bed.

“Master is sick.” Kreacher observes.

“Kreacher .” Harry croaks out, but he's too disoriented to ask for anything. He just shakes and sweats and slips back into sleep.

He dreams of Luna. She's sitting in the spring sun on the porch of Shell Cottage when Harry pushes the screen door open and steps outside to breathe.

“I never thought I'd see the ocean again.” Luna says and in that instant all Harry's problems are pushed away and instead his heart aches for her, for what she had been forced to endure. He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything.

“I kept thinking that if only I hadn't insisted on going back to Hogwarts, then I wouldn't have been captured and I wouldn't have been tortured.”

“I'm sorry that happened to you, Luna.”

“It's okay. Because you know what I've learned in that darkness?” She turns her head and looks at him, big eyes watery even though her face is smiling. “There are no bad decisions. The only thing that can be bad is how we deal with the outcome.”

You should have been a Gryffindor, Harry thinks in his dream even though he knows it's silly. People are never just one House. They aren't just loyal and kind, they aren't just brave and bold, they aren't just smart and curious, they aren't just ambitions and cunning. They are more than that.

Draco had been more than Harry had though, too. He had been so much more.

There's a cold hand on his forehead, pushing his sweaty hair aside. Then Harry feels the slight tingle of a set of diagnostic spells, hears Slughorn's doleful voice saying, “Harry, my boy. What have you done?”

 

 


	31. October 19

Harry is cleared to leave St. Mungo's late Monday evening after a last set of painful and disorienting tests. Harry thinks they're overdoing it, probably because it still bothers them that they couldn't figure out what had been wrong with their patient. 

Unsurprising, Harry thinks, because the only other person to have the same deathlike illness had been Ginny Weasley and she had been cured by Harry destroying Tom Riddle's Diary and the shard of Voldemort's soul with it. This time there had been two souls that needed saving and Harry had made sure Slughorn would find him and destroy Draco's Book, but not until Draco's soul had enough time to return to his living body.

All in all, Harry is pretty happy with how well his plan worked, even if it's not without a price.

The Healer notes, unhappily, that Harry's magic is still weak. He lets Harry leave anyway, but not without adding that Harry is more lucky than should be allowed and that no one person should have to have so many near misses in such a short life. Harry doesn't disagree, nor does he point out that he's actually had even more near misses that the public knows nothing about.

Harry is released into Mrs. Weasley's care and he can't help but feel a stab of shame when he sees a whole string of Weasleys there to pick him up. They all look at him like they did just after the Malfoy trials, the same smiles that never reaches their worried eyes. Harry doesn't resent their pity, he knows he's brought it on himself. Instead he's glad that somewhere along the line he's done something that has made the Weasley-family feel like he's earned their love and concern.

“Sounds like it was a close one.” Ron says as Mrs. Weasley lets Harry out of her embrace, but there is no judgement in his voice.

“Weasleys.” Kingsley Shacklebolt greets as he joins the group. “Auror Potter. I was wondering if I could steal a moment of your time.”

“Minister.” Arthur Weasley says with a nod.

“Sir.” Harry says and follows Kingsley away from the group.

“You know, when Miss. Granger left after Hogwarts she warned me that you might not be strong enough to be left to your own devises.” Kingsley says, dark eyes boring into Harry's. “I'm ashamed to say I didn't take her warning to heart.”

“I'm not suicidal.” Harry protest.

“I wasn't saying that.” Kingsley says sharply. “But for someone who puts his life in the hands of other people for a living, for someone who knows how important friends are, you sure seem to have a problem asking for help.”

"I called Slughorn."

"To clean up after you."

“If I had asked for help before you would have taken Draco's Book away form me.”

“The Horcrux, Harry.” Kingsley corrects. “I was the one who gave it to you, remember? I wanted you to find a way to save Mr. Malfoy, but not by gambling with your own life. You, of all people. You've seen what Riddle's Diary did to Miss. Weasley, you've felt how destructive Horcruxes are.” For a moment Kingsley Shacklebolt reminds Harry of Remus Lupin scolding him for using the Maurauder's map during Harry's third year. “Few Wizards or Witches have dabbled in the dark craft of Horcruxes and Voldemort did a lot of experimental spell work on his diary. Releasing someone with a living body has never been done, you had no way of knowing if destroying the Horcrux would destroy young Mr. Malfoy's soul, too. Your plan was guesswork at best.”

“I had a gut feeling.” Harry says, acutely aware how petulant that makes him sound. It's just that he can't explain how he knew it would work, he just did.

“There is no doubt that you understand the Dark Arts better and more intimately than any of my other Aurors and Merlin knows I've never been able to put a finger on your instincts before.” Kingsley says. “Still, as your boss I have to give you a reprimand for trying to function in the field next to your fellow Aurors while you've been so carelessly draining yourself outside of work and I've taken you off active duty for a few days. Eat, sleep. I have no use for you in this state.”

“Sir.” Harry says. “What about Draco Malfoy?”

Kingsley sighs, deeply and long. “He appears to be in good physical heath, at least, even if the Healers on duty were more than a little bewildered about their patient waking up. Unsurprisingly it's a first.”

“Can I see him?”

“I don't pretend to be in a position to stop you. If you want I can tell the Weasley-family to wait for your owl at the Burrow?”

“Thank you, Sir.” Harry says and then has to ask, “Sir, do they know about Draco's Bo- about the Horcrux, I mean?”

“Mr. Ronald does.” Kingsley says and tilts his head a little. “And I've owled Miss. Granger to let her know what is going on; You can expect her firecall later today. Albus Dumbledore made many mistakes in his time and quite a few was in regards to the way he handled you, Harry, but on this specific point I can't find a reason to challenge his believes: You need those two. The three of you are a formidable unit and I fear for the foe who would try to pull you apart.”

And with those words he leaves Harry alone in the entrance hall of St. Mungo's.

Malfoy Manor is as quiet as always, but Harry has never been here after sunset and he hadn’t realized just how uncomfortable the complete darkness would be. With a whispered _Lumos_ he holds his wand up and makes his way up the stairs, the echo of his steps bouncing off the walls and the marble floor as he walks the halls and off the hardwood in the labyrinth of rooms. He has no idea where he is heading, just follows the small pulsing light in the choking darkness until he realises that he is heading for Narcissa's sitting room.

Harry walks through the open double doors, wand raised and heart pounding, to find Draco standing at the far wall. He has his hands in his pockets, eyes cast up at the painting of him and his mother, and there's a split second where Harry thinks Draco hasn't heard him, but then Draco turns his head.

“I went to my flat, but someone cleared it out.” Draco says, his voice soft and slightly grainy, probably from not having been used in a while. “Apparently Muggle landlords frown upon tenants who stop paying rent.”

“Who would have thought.”

“The goblins at Gringotts were surprisingly understanding, however. You'd think they had employees disappear on them all the time.” The dark outline of Draco finally takes his hands out of his pockets and starts walking closer. “Do you have my wand?”

“Yeah, it's at home.” Harry says and tries to asses Draco's physical shape in the pale light that streams in through the Orangery.

Draco has always had the body of a boy that grew up too slowly and then all at once, slightly on the thin side due to stress and nervousness. More than a month's worth of inactivity has taken it's toll, too, but Draco still looks much better than Harry had expected.

“I could feel you coming, you know.” Draco says, coming to a halt a few metres away. Harry almost closes the remaining distance, but manages to stop himself, because even though he spent the last month realising just how much he cares about Draco and how much losing him actually hurt, it still doesn't change things between them. “It felt like a-”

“Like a little light.” Harry finishes for him, swallowing. Even now he feels it. “Yeah, probably an after effect of – everything. It'll probably fade.”

Draco nods. “And the rest of it?”

“What rest?”

“The- never mind. It's probably just-” Draco trails off, looking somewhere between unsure and annoyed, but when Harry opens his mouth to push him on it Draco takes a step forward, closing the gap himself and pulling Harry in for a kiss.

It reminds Harry of the desperate first kiss they shared in their Dorm Room two days before Christmas, but it doesn't last nearly as long. Just barely long enough to leave Harry confused and aroused. When Draco pulls away he doesn't look at Harry, just covers his face with his hands and takes a deep breath that sounds alarmingly like a sob.

“I am so messed up.” Draco says, words muffled by his hands.

Harry isn't sure exactly what Draco means. If he thinks he's messed up for kissing Harry or just in general. Harry doesn't think either is true, but he's pretty sure Draco wouldn't appreciate a lecture right now.

“I think you have the right to be. Both of us, actually.” Harry says instead. “Come on, you can't stay here.”

Draco doesn't answer, doesn't even raise his eyes to look at Harry. He just stands there, looking lost and scared. After a stretch of silence he nods, barely, and his wide eyes come up to meet Harry's.

 

Compared to Malfoy Manor Grimmauld Place is bright and warm and Harry strips off his jacket and throws it over a chair.

Draco hovers in the kitchen, looking oddly unsure of himself, which isn't that surprising. For more than a month Harry has been pouring himself into Draco and now that Draco is standing here, full-fleshed human being, Harry is acutely aware of how intimate it must have felt for him.

To give Draco a bit of breathing room Harry fills the kettle with water and lets the spell work it to a boil. He moves around the kitchen, taking cups from the shelf and tea from the cupboard. He could easily do it faster by magic, but it's not meant to be efficient. It's meant to be comforting.

Part of what Harry loves about Grimmauld Place is that it's practically the complete opposite of where he grew up, with it's dusty corners and old, rustic furnitures. He's never realized, until just now, how much it differs from where Draco grew up, too.

“Are you hungry? Or do you just want some time to be alone?” Harry asks, reaching for a pack of chocolate digestive.

“I don't know.” Comes the faint reply after a while and Harry turns, allowing himself to look Draco over in the light of the kitchen. He looks haunted, but still better than Harry had expected, not as pale as Harry remembers him to be, lying at St. Mungo's. The slight colour in his cheeks helps, of course, as do the wary curiosity in his grey eyes as they take in the room around him, ending on Harry. Harry should look away, but he finds that he doesn't want to and for a long moment the two just look at each other.

“Maybe a little hungry.” Draco says in the end and Harry nods and opens the fridge, taking out ham and cheese. Draco eyes the Muggle fridge sceptically and Harry can't help but smile, because that, at least, is a look he knows all too well.

“It's Muggle. It keeps the food cold.”

“I had one at my flat.” Draco says, “but that ran on electricity.”

“This one runs on a spell, same as the kettle.” Harry explains. He had completely forgotten that Draco had lived in a Muggle flat for two months. Draco had done his dishes in hand, had cooked and cleaned himself. Harry has to stop thinking of him as a sheltered and spoiled boy.

“How about I show you to your room and you can get yourself settled while I make some sandwiches?” Harry suggests.

“I don't have any things.” Draco says, looking unsure again. “I did at my flat, but they must have thrown it all out.”

“I almost forgot,” Harry says and leaves Draco alone in the kitchen. He runs upstairs to his bedroom and stops in the doorway. The room is tidy, sheets clean and air fresh, but Harry can still remember lying on his bed, soaked in sweat and body so weak he couldn't even cast a spell. More than once he had been sure he was going to die here.

Pushing the memory down he goes to the dresser, pulls out the top drawer and picks up the wand. He remembers too late what Draco had once told him, about the wand and it's wavering loyalty, but the damage is done and it's not like he hasn't already handled it before this.

“You didn't lose everything.” Harry says as he re-enters the kitchen. Draco, who had been sitting on the bench by the table, looking around the kitchen with a faint frown, starts a little when Harry steps close enough to put the wand on the table in front of him. Draco's eyes are wide and fearful again, like Harry's presence is somehow frightening for him, but he manages to drag his eyes off Harry's face to look at the wand.

“I hope not.” Draco says and closes his fingers hesitantly around the handle of the wand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bahh, I guess you were all expecting some really fancy explanation to how Harry was planning to save Draco.  
> Nope. He actually just had _a feeling_.


	32. October 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oi! Sorry for the late update, Europe! I had a super busy day.

Draco's body is still recovering. The Healers at St. Mungo's had done impressive work on his dissipated muscle mass and forced strengthening potion down his throat when Draco was too weak to even swallow. It had been disorienting and painful and even though the Healers and Mediwizard had talked to him in soft, calming voices Draco had still been scared. They had warned him he might still be in shock, but Draco hadn't cared. As soon as they agreed that he was in tolerable physical health he had left the hospital.

The worst part hadn't been the fussing of the Healers, though. It had been the questions of Professor Slughorn and the Minister. Draco kept giving too much away, answering questions he didn't even know he knew the answers to. They hadn't blamed Draco directly for Harry's stupidity, but it had taken them less than ten minutes to determine that Draco and Harry's relationship had become unhealthy.

As if it hadn't always been that.

At least Harry doesn't coddle him. He doesn't look at Draco like he's liable to fall apart like the Healers had and he doesn't ask Draco how he feels, thank fuck, because when ever Harry is too close Draco can feel _him_ , feel Harry's emotions more clearly than he feels his own.

Inside the Book Harry had given Draco some of his most intimate and personal memories and it hadn't just been stories told in the darkness of their Dorm Room. It had been written directly into Draco's soul and it still feels like that, exactly like that, like Harry is broadcasting everything he feels directly into Draco, when ever they move too close.

It's more than just sharing fears in the darkness and Harry standing up for Draco when no one else would, and it is far less subtle than shared smiles during Potions and their first inside joke. All of that had made Draco fall stupidly and recklessly in love with the bugger, but this is a whole other level of closeness. Harry's uncensored emotions are overwhelming, almost uncomfortably so, and while Draco's initial reaction is to distance himself from the intimacy of it, his body seems to have other ideas. He can't be sure if it's a lingering effect of the spells in the Book or if Draco is just so embarrassingly starved for Harry's attention, but he can't bring himself to leave Harry's house.

Draco does a half-hearted attempt at using Occlumency against Harry, but since his wand is still being difficult Draco has to rely on wandless magic, which is fickle and exhausting.

Luckily Harry stands by his offer and gives Draco room to breathe.

As far as Draco can tell, Harry has been given the time off from work, but that doesn't mean he doesn't work. Harry spends most of his time sitting at the kitchen table, working on a case and Draco, in turn, makes friends with the nightmare of a Hippogriff in Harry's backyard. It takes a while, though, getting on the beast's good side; From the start it seems to have a grudge against Draco, but he manages to win it over with a polite bow and a de-thawed rabbit that Harry provides for him.

Draco spends a long time out there, wrapped up in a quilt and two blankets while he looks up at the clear night sky. It shouldn't be this visible from central London, but Draco can feel the tell-tale signs of the elaborate protections spells encrusting the house and the garden, one of them clearly there to keep out the noise of the streets. It would make sense if one of them also kept out the light of the city.

“I needed some fresh air.” Draco tells Harry when he comes to check on Draco around three in the morning. He doesn't say that it is also in parts because he needs to distance himself from Harry, but Harry isn't stupid. Even a half decent Auror would notice the way Draco flinches when Harry comes too near. What Harry chooses to make of it isn't Draco's problem, at all, so there is absolutely no reason why he should feel bad when Harry radiates guilt and shame so strongly that Draco thinks he's going to choke on it.

When Draco joins Harry in the kitchen at eight o'clock Tuesday morning Harry gets up from his work to make Draco tea. Since Draco had thrown up the first real meal he had gotten Harry has started Draco on a diet of home-made fruit juice, low-fat yoghurt and ridiculous amounts of tea. Harry's voice is all authority and Draco accepts Harry's orders with only mild complaining.

“Don't you ever use your sitting room?” Draco asks and sits across from where Harry is working while he watches as Harry moves around the kitchen. A small frown finds it's way to Harry's face as he looks up the short flight of stone steps leading into the dark hallway.

“It's warm out here.” Harry says.

“I'd be warm in there if you lit the fireplace.” Draco says and when Harry smiles Draco can feel his body react like the traitor it is.

Draco never told his parents about his sexual preferences, but he suspect they knew. Not that it would have mattered a great deal; Merlin knows few pure-bloods marry out of love, anyway, and as for conceiving an heir, well, there are plenty of magical solutions for that. His mother would have loved him all the same and his father would have lived in blissful denial. Well, probably not if Draco's choice of partner had been Harry Potter.

“What are you working on?” Draco asks and tries to read the open pages upside down, all too familiar with Harry's handwriting by now.

“It's your mother's case, actually.” Harry says and hands Draco a giant mug of tea. “Or some of it. Most of it is still in the office and I can't really go in and pick it up. Lisa would stun me and drag me back to bed.”

“I forgot.” Draco says, mostly to himself, and runs his fingers over the photo of his mother that's been fastened with a paper clip to the inside of the folder. “I mean, not that she's dead, but that you're on her case.”

“I didn't.” Harry says and stops Draco's hand as he reaches for the envelope of crime scene pictures. He deliberately moves the folder well out of Draco's reach, ignoring the angry glare Draco levels on him.

“I've been wondering.” Harry says after a long moment. “Maybe you'd want to go see their graves?”

Draco doesn't. He knows what he's going to see there and he doesn't think it's going to help him get better. It's more likely to break him apart, but how could Harry possibly understand that when he lost his mother as a baby.

“We'd only be Apparating from the Manor.” Harry says, apparently taking Draco's silence for hesitation. “I'll take you side-along. I think I can manage, I'm not completely drained.”

“Okay.” Draco agrees after a while, not for himself , but because of the soft wave of hope edged with affection coming from Harry. Draco tries not to think about how eager he is to please Harry.

In the quiet Entrance Hall of the Manor Draco brush off his clothes, a plain black henley and dark pants that makes it easy to hide the soot of the travel. It's still in his hair though and Draco sticks his fingers in between the short strands and ruffles it, sending off a cloud of ash.

Next to him Harry does the same before looking over at Draco with a grin. There's a moment where he just looks at Draco, on the verge of saying something, and Draco has a sudden longing to reach out and rub the soot from Harry's cheek with a gentle thumb. Thankfully he manages to control it and push it back where it belongs, deep inside.

“Are you sure you can do this safely?” Draco asks, which is a dumb question, because Harry does stupid and risky things for a living. He probably thinks he can do anything.

“Trust me.” Harry just says, reaching out and stopping just short of Draco's elbow while he waits for permission. Harry probably asks people to trust him every damn day. There is absolutely no reason why Draco should feel special or get a tug of want low in his stomach from those two words, but he does.

The weather in Wiltshire is pretty considering the time of year. Draco had expected a light drizzle or maybe even heavy rain, but it's just sunny with a soft breeze and a blackbird complaining because they startled it by appearing.

“This way.” Harry says and leads on. They pass through long rows of neatly kept plots and Draco realises that he has no idea what to expect from his parent's graves.

“Mr. Potter.” The old tender greets them as Harry and Draco pass him and Harry smiles politely and nods with a “Mr. Weer.”

“You've been here before.” Draco says, not sure if it comes out sounding like an accusation. He's not sure if he meant it as one, either.

“Every Sunday with Andromeda.” Harry says as he walks, like it's a matter of course. “Teddy's parents are just on the other side of that lawn. We come here before I go to visit the Weasley's.”

 _Of course he does,_ Draco thinks and he shouldn't be surprised, because that's just how Harry sodding Potter is, isn't it?

For more than six years Draco had told himself that Harry's seemingly unending and naive kindness was a just to distract people from the fact that he was inept and overstated. Draco knows it had probably been his own twisted way to make it easier to hate Harry and sometimes Draco really wishes he could go back to that, but he knows that's not an option any more. He is still convinced that Harry's kindness is a cover, but Draco knows now that it's because Harry has a lot of fears and insecurities and a very human darkness inside him.

Maybe that's the real reason why it took Draco so long to accept Harry's offer of friendship, because Draco contributed to all of that and no matter how hard he tries to improve and make up for his past mistakes, Draco is never going to be able to erase that.

Draco's parents have been put next to each other, but they have each their headstone, each of them decorated with names, dates and the Malfoy crest. Draco watches their graves, but all he feels is a muted sorrow that is easy to push away here in the sunshine with Harry's overwhelming emotions next to him. It's surprising really, because Draco had always been much too emotional.

“We mustn’t let our emotions show.” His mother had said, lifting his chin with a finger. Draco had been seven and they were at his Grandmother’s funeral. He had known she was dead, of course, but seeing her coffin lowered into a dark hole had made it real and Draco hadn't been able to stop himself from crying. “People expect us to be strong and proud.”

Draco remembers the day his mother was killed, remembers falling apart in his flat, wishing he would stop feeling. He had wanted to be strong, strong like his mother who's emotions never betrayed her.

“The last time I saw her,” Draco says quietly, not even sure why he's telling Harry this. “I had no idea anything was wrong. She just smiled and lied to me. She must have known, she must have been scared for her life, but she just smiled at me.”

“She loved you.” Harry says. “She didn't want you to be worried.”

Draco reaches out and takes Harry's hand. “Take us back.” He says and Harry does.

Harry pours Draco a bowl of yoghurt and sits down on the other side of the table. Even if Draco couldn't feel the nervousness and guilt coming from him, it is clear on his face.

“Are you angry at your mother for making choices for you behind your back?” Harry asks and Draco doesn't even have to consider that, because he knows the answer and he also knows what Harry is really asking.

“No. And I'm not angry with you either.” He says, feeling fairly good about himself when Harry's eyes widen slightly and he knows he guessed correctly. “I mean, I was. Absolutely furious, but you kept me out of Azkaban. Also, I'm obviously glad you didn't listen when I told you to burn the damn book.”

Harry seems unconvinced. “But that day in the Library-”

“That day I was bitter and angry.” Draco interrupts. “You got under my skin, messing up all the reasons I had to hate you. And when I couldn't hate you I hated myself, for not hating you. But that was before Christmas. We weren't friends then, we barely trusted each other. Things changed. Well, not you so much, you were always the idiotic hero, eager to throw himself into his death if he thought he could save people.”

“I didn't write in the book to save you.” Harry says then and Draco can feel his guilt again, but this time it's laced with desperation and shame and so many other emotions, and Draco has no chance of picking them apart to try to understand Harry's mindset. “I mean, I did, but I also did it for me.” Harry stops and swallows. “I didn't even know until you stopped replying, but at that point I just didn't even care any more. I didn't care that I was forcing something on you that you didn't want, I didn't care if it was wrong. And I realised then that - it had never been about getting to be the one who saves you. I did it because I needed you to _be_ saved. I needed you back.”

Harry is a whirl of emotions, guilt, shame, need and affection, and Draco isn't even sure if Harry is ashamed because he failed at being a brave, selfless Gryffindor, or if it is because he acted like a selfish, relentless Slytherin. Either way he is looking at Draco like he just confessed a horrible crime and Merlin does Harry have issues, if he thinks it's a bad thing to need someone. It's not like he's the only one. It's not like Draco doesn't need him too.

Of course Harry doesn't know that, because he doesn't feel Draco's emotions the same way Draco feels his. If he did they would be naked on a bed right now. Or on the floor, Draco isn't that particular.

“I have to tell you something.” Draco says, feeling dread settle in his chest as he makes the decision, because he doesn't want to lose this, but he doesn't want to lie either. “Since I came back, since I left the book, I can feel everything you're feeling.”

Harry just stares for a long moment and Draco can practically see him putting it all together. Then the Occlumency barriers come up and Draco knew it would happen, but it still stings.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Harry demands, eyes wide.

“I'm telling you now.” Draco says, trying to sound nonchalant. “I can feel your emotions, I might be mentally and emotionally unstable, according to the Healers. Oh, and the Minister for Magic thinks our relationship is unhealthy.”

“He always did.” Harry says, sounding a little breathless. “But apparently he was right. Not about that," Harry amends. "But about what he told me before I left St. Mungo's. What I did, I had no actual way of knowing how it would affect either of us. Maybe I shouldn't have risked it.”

Draco looks at him, at the pain in his green eyes and the way he clutches his mug, fingers flexing. All Harry's emotions are right there, but now that Draco can't feel them like he could before he feels blind.


	33. October 21

Wednesday they work on Narcissa's case.

At first it's just Harry taking notes on a pad as he goes through names and dates, but around nine Draco comes into the kitchen. He's still wearing Harry's clothes, his blond hair ruffled by sleep and Harry knows he's in deep, especially if the flutter in his stomach is anything to go by. He manages to put his Occlumency barriers up before Draco comes within range, grateful that he at least has the option now, even if he doesn't have the mental strength to use it all the time.

“How long have you been up?” Draco asks as he pours himself some coffee. He fills it with sugar and milk and leans against the kitchen counter as he drinks it down like it's medicine.

“A couple of hours.” Harry admits. “I went for a run.”

“Right.” Draco says, making a face. “I forgot you do that.” Draco refills his cup and comes over to stand behind Harry's chair.

“Can I help?” He asks as he leans over Harry's shoulder to look at the notes. Harry is pretty sure Draco has no idea how distracting he is being. He almost lets his barriers drop just to show him.

“Maybe you can, actually.” Harry says, trying his best to ignore the fact that Draco is resting a hand between his shoulder blades. “We've raided the homes of a lot of Supporters in the past three months. Seven of them had equipment and ingredients for advanced potion making.” Harry makes the mistake of looking up at Draco, realising too late that this brings his face within an inch of Draco's. Luckily Draco is the first to look away, slight blush rising in his cheeks.

“If you want to help you can go through the lists,” Harry continues, as if nothing had happened. “See if you can find connections or if any of the rarest ingredients appears across the different cases. Cross-reference buyers, sellers, shipment, provider.”

Draco reaches for the pages Harry hands him, but Harry doesn't let go until Draco meets his eyes. “Don't overwork yourself.”

“I'm not a bloody invalid, _Potter_!” Draco says, slight sneer in his voice and for some reason this makes Harry warm inside. He must have let the Occlumency barrier's drop, because Draco gives him a questioning look and then a small smirk finds its way to his lips.

“If you're keeping the barriers up for my sake then don't bother.” Draco says. “I quite like it.”

“You like it?”

“Yes.” Draco says and puts down his quill. “The two of us always misunderstand each other. But like this- I mean, I never realised that you like me so bloody much.”

Harry can feel his ears burn. “I'm sorry, I know we agreed not to.”

“I told you once, Potter. Don't apologizes to me.” Draco says “What we agreed was not to risk getting our face in the _Prophet_ over meaningless sex. Obviously this isn't meaningless.”

“I don't know if you've read the _Prophet_ in the past two days? I told you I went for a run? Well, I went for a run in Bedford. Where Dean Thomas lives. Because outside here, at the Burrow, at Andromeda's house. Outside Malfoy Manor. Everywhere there are reporters.”

“Bollocks.”

“They're inventive, too. Some claim True Love's Kiss woke you, some that I have dabbled in Dark Magic.”

“Bollocks.”

“Remember that headline you really didn't want to see, ever?” Harry asks.

“ _The Ministry's Poster-boy and The Chosen One Shacks Up_?”

Harry summons today's _Prophet_ and hands it to Draco, front page up. Draco growls.

“I think `bollocks´ just about sums it up.” Harry says dryly and goes back to the case, giving Draco room to deal with this.

“You really think you can solve this?” Draco asks thirty minutes later and Harry pretends that he hadn't just been watching Draco's hand write down four possible potions one could make from Lobalug venom, Malaclaw saliva and seeds from the Jellyfish Tree. Instead he looks up and gives Draco a crooked smile.

“I don't mean to sound cocksure,” Harry says. “but it's kinda what I do for a living.”

“It's okay.” Draco says, looking back down at the list. “Sounding cocksure suits you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your very kind words. 40 hours migraines are a little crippling and I'm so sorry I missed a day, but there was nothing I could do.


	34. October 22

Thursday Harry insists on coming back to work. He's been away for almost a week and he knows Neville has been doing a great job keeping everyone busy and organized, but Harry is in fact the boss and the team needs to see that he's okay.

They had all wanted to come by Grimmauld Place, of course, but Neville had refused to let them go to Harry's home with a giant teddy bear, as they had otherwise planned. Harry is grateful, especially when he gets to the office and sees that the giant teddy bear wasn't a joke and that it is currently occupying the chair in Harry's office.

“I missed you lots.” Lisa says as she waltzes through his door with a to-go coffee and an updated version of Narcissa's file. “Michael worried like a little puppy. He kept whimpering in front of the door.”

“I was whimpering in my chair, thank you!” Michael calls through the open door.

“I added the notes you sent me and I've written up the result of the RITA from our raid Tuesday.” Lisa says and moves the teddy out of Harry's chair, because Harry still hasn't gotten around to doing that, preferring instead to sit on a stool on the other side of the table so he can keep an eye on it. The teddy is bigger than she is by far.

“You were on a raid Tuesday?”

“The world doesn't stop because you get sent to the hospital, Harry.” She says with a frown, like that's an obvious. “If that was the case no one would _ever_ get any work done around here. We'd be too busy whimpering.”

“Proud of it.” Michael calls again. Lisa shuts the door.

“Look Harry,” She says, lowering her voice. “There are a couple of things I haven't put in the report. I wasn't sure you'd want me to.”

“Do they belong in the report?” Harry asks.

“Probably.” Lisa says, “Possibly not.”

“Don't do that.” Harry begs. “Don't be vague.”

“Okay, then listen up. I went over to Wizengamot Administration Services and talked to the WASP on duty. I've flirted with her before, especially back when I was taking those courses in Legal Work right after we left Hogwarts. All sorts of useful stuff in those archives.” Lisa explains. “Also she's really hot. Anyway, I had her check if any Aurors had been casting Memory Charms in the area where Mrs. Malfoy was found, because it didn't make sense you know. If Dark Wizards wanted to make sure those two boys didn't talk, they could have killed them and made it look like they'd drowned in that creek near the farm. These people,” she shakes a handful of the Suicide Files. “they wouldn't have cared about killing two Muggles.”

“So what did you find?”

Lisa sighs. “An Auror _did_ use two Memory Charms out there. It was in the log for _Regulated Spell Work._ But it didn't say who cast them. I'm sorry.”

“No that's-” Harry says, trying to process. “That's something. That's big. But you're right. We can't log that.”

“I assumed you would say that.” Lisa says, looking resigned. “There's something else, though.” She digs in her pocket and holds out a small vial filled with silvery liquid. “Remember that memory Neville found. The one that almost got him killed.”

“I remember.” Harry says, recalling how scared he had felt that day.

“Well, I had it cleaned up and analysed.” She says and her smile is so wide, you'd think she had just found the Library of Alexandria. “I logged all the faces I could pull from the Damien Code into the official files, except Narcissa.”

“We need to log her, too, Lisa. No matter what she was doing there, we can't hide it.”

“I'm not trying to.” Lisa assures him. “You just need to understand, that as soon as I log Narcissa as having been at that meeting, her case will be officially linked to the Suicide Cases and reopened.”

“Wasn't that the point all along?”

“It was, but Harry.” She looks at him, pity and something else in her eyes. “You do realise that they'll want to bring in Draco Malfoy as a witness if we reopen his mother's case.”

Of course they will and Harry feels stupid for not even thinking about it. He could probably get himself assigned as the lead interrogator, even if it wouldn't be entirely appropriate, but he also has to be realistic; as soon as Harry goes on record with the theory that Narcissa had been working undercover to clear the Malfoy name, no matter how well founded, it will take the _Prophet_  minutes to link it to Harry and Draco being romantically involved. After that Harry isn't sure anyone would believe him.

“We need another witness.” Harry says and Lisa nods solemnly. “What about your raid Tuesday.”

“Well, he's alive, but he's not going to be very helpful. What ever he took was mixed wrong. He's currently in St. Mungo's. They don't think he'll recover.”

Lisa steps closer and Harry is surprised to feel her taking his hand. “Look Harry, Neville and I are on it. There's a raid tonight in Nocturne Ally. The owner of that little dump under Doyle & Baxton's was identified as having been at the meeting from that memory.” She points at the vial Harry is still clutching. “That was what I was so excited to tell you. It might be our best lead yet.”

“I'll come.”

“No Harry, please. It's just a standard raid to look for anything illegal. Mostly it's just an excuse to snoop around.”

“Okay.” Harry says, nodding. “But bring a couple of Aurors, will you? Just to be safe. It's a full moon tonight and Nocturne Ally is, well Nocturne Ally.”

“What do I tell Head Auror Gale?”

“Nothing. I'll assign them myself. Briggs and Statham owes us one anyway. I'll do the paper work right now, just promise you'll bring them.”

“Okay, okay.” Lisa says opening the door. “Gees, you're as whiny as Michael sometimes.”

“At least I didn't get him a giant frigging teddy bear!” Michael calls.

  

Draco is in the sitting room when Harry gets home. He has lit up the fireplace and aired out the room, and Harry can't tell if Kreacher has helped him, but at least the room is as dust free and inviting as Harry has ever seen it.

“I don't really come in here.” Harry says when Draco spins around to face him. His hair is a mess and he's wearing Harry's clothes and Harry doesn't think he's ever wanted him more. He doesn't realise his mistake until Draco's eyes darken and Harry notice the flush spreading across Draco's cheeks.

“Shit.” Harry says, putting up barriers to keep his emotions in and Draco out. “Sorry.”

Draco stares at him for another moment, apparently at a loss for words, before he gets himself under control and gives the worlds most casual, “Don't worry about it.”

“Are you hungry?” Harry asks, just to say something. “I brought three different flavours of yoghurt.”

“I had a sandwich earlier. I'm _fine_.” Draco adds when Harry raises his eyebrows at him. “I will, however, be sick if I eat one more spoonful of yoghurt.”

“Okay.” Harry says, fighting down a smile at Draco's prissy tone. “Look, there's something I need to talk to you about.” Harry says as he walks out into the kitchen. He doesn't ask Draco to follow him, instead hoping Draco will come along on his own accord.

“If it has anything to do with my time inside that horrid book, you can forget it.” Draco says, coming down the stone steps behind Harry. “I'm not going there, not today.”

“No, “Harry says, spelling water to boil for tea. “Actually it's about your mother's case.”

“Go on.”

“At this point we have everything we need to reopen it. We have reliable evidence and very strong proof she was at least in the know about what these people were doing.”

“But?” Draco says and the way Draco leans on his hips when he's impatient makes Harry's chest do something very unexpected.

“If we do”, He hands Draco a mug of tea. Draco takes it with out looking at Harry. “They'll want to question you.” Harry ends.

“You're talking about putting me under veritaserum and picking my brain.” Draco says, not intoning it like a question, because it isn't one. They both remember the trials well enough.

“Unless we get some irrefutable evidence that proves that your mother wasn't involved, that she was in fact killed trying to flush these people out, then I won't have another option.”

“It's not an option.” Draco says and he sounds so hurt that Harry has to fight himself not to reach out for him.

“I thought as much” Harry says. “Which is why I told Lisa to keep the case closed for now.”

“Then what?”

“I'll figure it out, Draco. I promise.” Harry says, even though he can't actually promise anything. He can't help but wonder what will happen when Draco runs out of rooms to clean.

  

Harry isn't going to pretend he's an expert on things like love. Since Ginny he has had exactly zero relationships, not counting his job, and even that has been rocky at times.

He's not sure where this thing with Draco really qualifies. In theory it's been his longest running relationship of any kind, discounting Mrs. Figgs and Dudley, and Harry only see either of them on very rare occasions. He's even known Draco longer than both Ron and Hermione, and even though they spent the entirety of their time before the war fighting and hating each other, Harry isn't going to pretend that it doesn't mean something. Draco had been a constant, if nothing else. And now he's become a friend. Harry's just not sure if Draco is more than that.

Harry can't kiss Draco when ever he wants, can't even reach out and touch him, which means their relationship must still be on a strictly platonic state. Except it doesn't feel like that when Draco looks at him or when they brush against each other in the kitchen. Harry feels everywhere Draco touches him like traces of fire and after a few hours Harry thinks he's going to go mad from it.

“You shouldn't be using Occlumency all the time." Draco says as Harry makes them dinner. Draco is sitting on the table, feet on the bench and Harry can't help but wonder when cultivated Draco had lost his manners. “I know it's exhausting and you're supposed to be recovering, too."

Harry doesn't answer right away and he sure as Salazar's Pointy Hat doesn't drop his Occlumency barriers, because he doesn't want Draco to know what he's feeling right now, seeing him sitting there in Harry's sweatpants and a t-shirt that's slightly too short for him. Especially not now that Draco is leaning back to rest on his hands, the shirt slipping up to reveal a very pale and tempting expanse of his stomach.

“It's an unfair advantage,” Harry says instead, continuing to chop up tomatoes. “I have no idea what you're feeling.”

“Advantage?” Draco says, teasing tone in his voice. “Is this a game now?”

“Is there a prize?”

“I thought you didn't need a prize to be honest with me?”

Harry spins around to face Draco. “You sly little prick.” He says, because Draco is actually grinning at him and he looks absolutely adorable.

“Come on.” Draco says and then adds, “Are you going to make me beg?”

The words settles low in Harry's groin and Merlin, does he want this. For once he wants to not think of the consequences, just drop all barriers and let himself feel everything, let it fill him up until Draco actually gasps.

The crack of Apparation makes Harry jerk back and Draco jump a little. Harry turns his head to see Mibbi standing there on the kitchen floor.

“Master.” Mibbi says and she's addressing Draco and not Harry, but Harry has no time to marvel at how well House-elves keep themselves informed on who their current Masters are, because Mibbi is talking. “Mibbi begs Master's forgiveness, but she thought it prudent to let Master know that the Manor has guests.”

“Guests?” Harry and Draco echoes in unison.

“Someone got through the wards?” Draco adds.

“Apologies, young Master.” Mibbi says, looking pained. “We wouldn't have let them through, but the girl had been there before accompanied by the other young Master. We didn't dare stop her in case it would make Master displeased.”

“Lisa? Is it Lisa?” Harry demands.

“Yes, the tiny half-blood girl, Master.”

Harry holds one hand out for Draco's and the other out to Mibbi. “Take us, Mibbi. It'll be faster than Floo.”

“Wasn't Lisa part of the raid today?” Draco asks, getting to his feet and taking Harry's hand.

Harry nods, heart in his throat. “So was Neville.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A helping hand:  
> A RITA, as first mentioned on October 8, stands for Residual Imprint Trace Algorithm.  
> The Aurors Briggs and Statham were the Aurors sent to the Patil's shop to search it.


	35. October 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : For strong images.

They land in Narcissa's room just as the clock on the wall strikes midnight. The full moon is streaming in though the glass of the Orangery and bathing everything in the room in a soft, blueish light.

The first thing Harry sees is Neville on the floor and two house-elves standing around his unconscious form, wringing their hands. Harry gets to his knees next to Neville, not touching him, because Harry can't see any bleeding and usually that means a curse. The preliminary diagnostic spell comes out positive for vital signs and negative for curses and Harry finally dares to turn Neville over on his back.

His skin is covered in black markings, but not like the ones you get from a powerful dark curse. Instead it occurs to Harry that it is actually Neville's veins, black against his pale skin. Poison then, which is much worse, because Harry's knowledge is limited to stopping and slowing the spread of Curses and Dark Magic.

He tries to remember what he had learned in Emergency Antidotes and Diagnostic, but this is like nothing Harry has ever seen before and he doesn't even have his Med kit.

“Draco.” He calls, because luckily Draco _does_ know about Poisons.

“Over here,” Draco calls back and Harry turns his head to see Draco out in the Orangery, kneeling next to another body.

 _Please don't be dead_ , Harry silently begs as he runs over and slides to a halt next to Draco and Lisa. She isn't, but she's in pain, that much is clear. With combined effort Harry and Draco manage to get Lisa into a sitting position without hurting her too much and they pop her up against the wall.

“Lisa?” Harry asks softly. He lifts her chin and she looks up at him, eyes black and blood running from them like grotesque tears.

“The idiot passed out on me before he could tell me which of these damn plants to use.” She mutters and then grids her teeth as a rush of pain runs through her. There's blood in her mouth and Harry almost looks away.

“You were poisoned?” Draco demands and Harry finally pulls himself together to cast diagnostic spells for her vitals.

“Air born.” Lisa confirms and coughs up a splatter of black blood. She just wipes her mouth and talks on. “Neville said something about Black Silence.”

“Harry, help me.” Draco says, padding Harry's shoulder to get his attention. “Levitate me up there.”

Harry follows Draco's stretched arm with his eyes and sees a shelf above them, too high up for either of them to reach. Gathering as much strength he can, he throws the strongest Levicorpus he can, and Merlin, it's hardly enough, because Harry's magic is still so weak.

Using all of his resolve - and strength he didn’t even know he had - he manages to keep Draco floating long enough for him to gently pluck a handful of pink flowers, careful not to spill their pollen. When Harry sets him back down Draco runs to Lisa's side and turns her head up, shakes a few of the flowers over her face.

“Breathe.” Draco says kindly, rubbing the petals between his fingers and smearing the paste over Lisa's closed eyes. “It's going to sting, but you have to keep breathing. Harry come here. Take these. Keep drizzling the pollen into her eyes and be sure she breaths it all in. I'll go start on Longbottom.” With that Draco is gone and Harry picks up the delicate flowers and does exactly as he's told.

“Mibbi.” Harry calls and he House-elf appears by his side. “Go fetch Ron Weasley for me. Don't talk to anyone else, okay?”

“You don't trust the rest of the Aurors?” Draco asks from where he is kneeling next to Neville, his white hair catching the moonlight and making it look luminescent.

“How can I?” Harry asks and looks down on Lisa's face, on the trails of blood running from her eyes and smeared at her mouth, on the way the black veins strikes a chilling contrast to the sick paleness of her skin.

  

“We've put them into a catatonic bubble.” The Healer says and Harry has to cover his eyes and take a deep, steadying breath, because he knows exactly what that means. “We have no idea what they've been poisoned with, so we have no chance of brewing the correct antidote.”

“Lisa said something about Black Silence.” Harry tries, feeling even more helpless than he had an hour ago when Draco had to restart Neville's heart, just before Ron and George had showed up to Apparate Neville and Lisa away.

“I'm sorry,” The Healer says. “I've never heard that name before. Are you sure?”

It had been what Lisa had said, but she had been in so much pain and she'd heard it from Neville, who had been even worse off. Harry isn't willing to bet their lives on it, so instead he shakes his head.

“What about the other Aurors?” he asks, hoping that maybe they are in a better state.

“I'm sorry.” The Healer says again, looking like it actually hurts her to keep saying those words. “These two are the only ones who's been brought in tonight.”

“But there were two other Aurors. Briggs and Statham.” Harry says, feeling another rush of guilt. “I assigned them myself.”

This time she doesn't say she's sorry, she just shakes her head and looks at him with sympathy. “All I can say, Auror Potter, is that, if they were poisoned by the same as these two and haven't been brought in to my ward, it's safe to assume they're dead by now.”

She looks over at where Lisa and Neville are both lying, encased in shimmering blue orbs of light. “These two would be too,” She adds. “if Mr. Malfoy hadn't been quick to stop the spread with Nimian's Folly.”

 

Harry spends the next three hours sitting on a chair in the hallway with Ron and Draco. George had gone home, once he had been sure there were absolutely nothing else he could do to help. Harry had thanked him and assured him that they would all be fine, because he knew how George was around death and pain. Not that there was any death, not yet.

 _Except the Aurors you assigned,_ a vicious voice says inside his head and Harry has to bury his face in his hands. There's a comforting hand on his back – Ron's – and Harry allows it to rub up and down his spine, apparently not caring that Harry's shirt is soaked with sweat.

“You did nothing wrong, mate.” Ron says. “Lisa is brilliant and Neville is as good a fighter as you are. Plus he's a pretty decent strategist. He made a call, that's not on you.”

“It's not.” Harry agrees. “I wasn't even there.”

“Harry.” Ron says and Harry can't stop the pained sound from escaping his throat. “They're going to be fine, Lisa and Neville, at least. The Healers will find a way to cure them, they just need time and they have that now. The catatonic bubbles will make sure of that.”

“We don't have time.” Harry says then, feeling the dread wash over him as he says it out loud. Next to him Draco gets up and Harry watches as he walks down the hall. He had completely forgotten to block off his emotions. He's been an emotional mess for hours and Draco has been feeling all of it. Harry swallows and pushes that guilt away, because this is more important.

“I need to talk to Lisa.” Harry says and gets to his feet. He's through the door to their ward when Ron and Draco both catch up with him.

“I need you to take Lisa out of the bubble.” he says to the Healer. “Just for a few minutes.”

The Healer looks at him like Harry has lost his mind and he probably would think the same. Maybe he has.

“You can't be serious.” She says and she actually smiles from uncertainty.

“I am.” Harry says, just as Ron says, “Harry, mate, what are you doing?”

“What ever Lisa and Neville were dosed with, it was air born. It was something these people have been working on for a very long time and that some of them have taken their lives to keep secret.” Harry explains. “All I know is that these people are dangerous and in possession of a weapon that could wipe out a lot of people in a very painful way. What ever happened tonight might even have caused them to move their plans along.”

The Healer looks at him, eyes full of disbelief. When Harry just looks back at her she turns her pleading eyes to Ron, who must seem to her a voice of reason.

Her panic seems to tilt over when Ron just says. “I agree with Harry.”

The Healer wrings her hands. “Are you sure, Auror Potter?” she asks. “If I lift this bubble, she might not make it.”

Harry knows that. He knows and he can't care. He can care tomorrow when Lisa is either saved or dead. Right now thousands of people might depend on getting information out of her.

“Lisa might be the only one who can help me stop them.” Harry says, holding the Healer's stare. “I _need_ to talk to her.”

The Healer nods as she turns her attention back to Lisa and starts chanting with her wand raised. After a few moments the blue orb seems to crumble and it comes down around Lisa like a shower of blue light shards.

Lisa instantly coughs up more blood and Harry steps in to take her hand, even if he knows her skin is hurting. He needs a way to keep her conscious.

“Lisa.” He says softly. “I need you to focus. I need you to think really hard about what happened to you and Neville tonight.”

Lisa doesn't hesitate. It's seems as if she knows that the next few minutes are too important to waste and Harry is so very grateful.

“We were ambushed. “ Lisa says. “They poisoned us with this powder, Black Silence. That's what Neville called it.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks and looks over the Healer who shakes her head.

“Yes. I couldn't Apparante us out, because of the Anti-Disapparition Jinx we'd set up.” She grits her teeth at a stab of pain and Harry can feel her squeezing his hand, even if she barely has the strength for it.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're in pain.” Harry says.

“Feels like melting from the inside.” Lisa says and for a moment she seems to zone out and Harry has to squeeze her hand to get her back.

“I'm here “ She says, blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth as she continues. “When Auror Briggs died the Anti-Disapparition Jinx lifted. I grabbed Neville and got us out of there. I didn't think I'd make it.”

“Why did you go to Malfoy Manor, Lisa.” Harry asks. “Why not come here?”

“It was the only place I could think of that he wouldn't try looking for us.” Lisa says and for the first time she opens her black eyes and looks at Harry, even if Harry is pretty sure she can't see a thing.

“Who?” Harry asks, holding on to her hand for dear life.

“The Head.” Lisa croaks out. “Head Auror Gale.”

 

As soon as Lisa has been placed safely back in her catatonic bubble Harry Apparates to the Ministry. It's five o'clock, much too early for anyone to meet in for work, but the perfect time to sneak into the Auror office if one needed to erase all traces of ones illegal and corrupt affairs.

The WASP at the information desk of the Wizengamot Administration Services actually gets to her feet when Harry storms in.

“You Aurors really _do_ get an early start, hu?” She says with a smile. “I don't remember ever having a more busy Friday morning.”

“There's someone here already?” Harry demands and her smile falters slightly.

“Sure is, Auror Potter. The Head himself came in just half an hour ago.” She says, flopping down in her seat again. “Seemed about as cheerful as you, actually.”

Harry concentrates and sends off his Patronus with a message for Ron before he readies himself and slips through the door to Archives, wand ready. He moves silently down the rows of files and dusty scrolls, trying to keep his breathing a quiet as possible.

He knows Auror Gale has heard him, though, because The Head isn't just anyone; He is smart and skilled and Harry has seen him in action enough times to know how deadly he can be.

There's a flicker of a shadow between the rows ahead and Harry dodges in between two shelves, flattening himself against the wood.

“Don't be silly, Harry.” The Head says. “I'm not your enemy and I have no intention of duelling you.”

“Funny.” Harry says. “I have every intention of duelling you.”

“You need to listen to me, Harry,” The Head says, his voice now coming from the complete opposite end of the archive. “What ever you think you know is wrong.”

“Then you won't mind coming along and explaining how wrong I am to The Minister.” Harry says and moves around a corner.

“Expelliarmus.” Comes Auror Gale's voice from behind and Harry's wand is ripped from his hand, landing on the floor. He spins to face Auror Gale, who holds up both hands as if he's the one who is out of options.

“That used to be your spell, didn't it Harry?” The Head says and smiles. “It used to be a bit of a joke, actually.”

Harry tries to focus on his wand without looking at it. Under normal circumstances he would easily have been able to do a wandless accio, but Harry is still drained and he drained himself further by lifting Draco earlier. The Head doesn't seem to know this, though.

“Oh, don't bother using wandless magic against me.” Auror Gale says, circling Harry to get between him and the wand on the floor. “I'm quite capable with a Repel Charm and we don't want that erratic magic of yours bouncing all around in these narrow corridors. It'd be as likely to hit yourself.”

Auror Gale is edging closer, he looks from Harry and down on the wand, as if he's not quite sure why Harry hasn't summoned it by now.

“Yeah?” Harry says, fisting his right hand just as Gale comes within reach. “How about you try to repel this.” and he punches Auror Gale in the face, feeling Gale's nose and his own hand break in the process. Gale staggers backwards from the impact and hits the shelf behind him. When he slides to the floor, blood spurting from his nose, he's out cold.

“Well that was anti-climatic.” Ron says and Harry spins to face him just as Ron lowers his own wand and tugs it away in his pocket. One of his instructors muttering about Wand Safety pops up in Harry's head and he almost laughs, even though nothing is even remotely okay yet.

  

When Harry leaves Kingsley Shacklebolt's office four hours later he can barely believe he's still awake.

“So what did the Minister say?” Draco asks and hands Harry a croissant and a cup of to-go coffee.

“He was pretty crossed that I hadn't kept him updated on your mother's case.” Harry admits, recalling Kingsley's exact words. They hadn't been very diplomatic. “But I suspect he was mostly mad that he missed a chance to help chase down Dark Wizards.” He looks at Draco, who looks as tired as Harry feels. Harry hasn't bothered using Occlumensy at all tonight, because quite frankly he hasn't had the strength for it, but he doubt there are very many feelings radiating off of him right now. If there are, Draco doesn't seem to mind.

He just meets Harry's eyes and says, “We're not done yet.”

 


	36. October 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh I was pretty sure I had posted this earlier. Turns out I was wrong.

It doesn't take Harry another several-hour-long conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt, to convince The Minister to put Harry in charge of Head Auror Gale's interrogation.

“He's smart.” Harry just says. “So smart that he thinks no one can get to him.”

“And still you assume you can outsmart him?”

“No,” Harry says. “Merlin no. I'm going to give the vain prick exactly what he wants.”

“A chance to show off?” Kingsley says with a small smile.

“Isn't that what all the clever ones want?”

At ten Saturday morning Harry stands outside the interrogation room, looking in on Gale through the Magically enhanced one-way glass, that lets him see the faint aura of The Head's magic as well as an outline of any nonverbal, wandless spell he might attempt.

When Harry is in there Michael, Susan and Justin will be doing the actual watching. Knowing that his life depends on them catching any curse or spell Auror Gale might attempt to cast at Harry, he had trusted no one else to do it. Needless to say they had all been more than willing to come in on a Saturday.

“I can't believe it.” Susan says, looking at Auror Gale intently. “I liked him.”

“I think a lot of us did,” Michael says. “I would never have taken him for a Supporter.”

“He was the first to speak up against people who looked down on Witches in the Corps.” Susan says. “He was always so nice to me.”

“To be fair, you're a pure-blood, Susan.” Justin says. “He never liked the rest of the M2's a lot, did he?”

“Because he thought we were undisciplined.” Susan argues. “Because we did things off the book.”

“Because we were half-bloods and Muggle-borns.” Justin corrects.

“I don't think that's why.” Harry says, making the rest of them fall silent. “And I don't think he's a Voldemort Supporter. I think this is about something else.”

“You have a plan, Sir?” Michael asks, looking over at Harry. Harry does, but he's not sure if it's enough. Harry has dealt with plenty of Death Eaters by now, but this is different. The Head isn't a follower. He's an architect and Harry is going to have to change all of his plays for this one. He is planning out his first move when he hears the door behind him open and close and Draco comes over and stands next to him.

“No.” Harry simply says, predicting the question.

Draco isn't dissuaded. “That two-faced, ghoul-whoring troll spawn killed my mother.” he says and his voice is so toneless that someone else might have thought Draco didn't actually care. Harry, however, knows that icy calm for what it really is.

“Which is why you're not going anywhere near him.” Harry says, just as calmly.

“Don't pretend you're not in way over your head.” Draco says. “Your plan is to get him to run his big, fat mouth off, right? But who here would he even bother showing off for?”

Harry is as good as immune to Draco's tetchy and venomous stabs by now, knows that Draco, when injured, is ready to lash out at anyone. He's right, though. The Head has spent years on Harry's side of the table and he knows every interrogation technique, every bait and gimmick. Draco, on the other hand, is an unknown who might actually be able to twist his way in where Harry so desperately needs to go.

Harry lets out a deep sigh. “I must be mad.”

“Relax, Potter.” Draco says with a smile. “I've known men like him my entire life.”

That thought doesn't calm Harry in the slightest, but he suspects it wasn't meant to. “Are you going to get me fired?”

“Wouldn't that be counterproductive?” Draco just says and follows Harry over to the door, doesn't even seem to notice the way he falls in behind Harry at his left.

Michael gives Draco a very unhappy glance and Harry doesn't blame him his scepticism. What Harry is doing goes against about a dozen rules and The Head knows that better than anyone, which might be why he looks genuinely confused when Harry and Draco walks though the door. It's just for a short moment, though, before he manages to pull on a mask.

“Draco Malfoy.” The Head says with a smile, "I'm sorry about what happened to you. Horrible business."

"Yes, it was quite traumatic." Draco agrees, but doesn't say anything else. Instead he takes the chair opposite Auror Gale, looking disinterested. Harry continues to hover by the door, arms crossed.

“What is this?” The Head finally asks, looking from Draco to Harry.

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm just sitting in." Draco says. “Harry is a little low on staff these days. Seems like you Aurors have a pretty rubbish lifespan."

The pain and anger Auror Gale must see when he turns his head to look at Harry is real, because Harry still doesn't know if Neville and Lisa are going to live and he was not prepared to hear Draco talk about them like that, like they're already dead.

"You lost one of your people?" Auror Gale says, surprise so dead-on that Harry might have thought it was real.

"Lisa and Neville." Harry says, following Draco's lead. "They never made it back."

"I'm sorry to hear."

"You're heartbroken, I'm sure." Draco says. "At least this time you made sure to get rid of the witnesses."

"I don't know what you're talking about." says Auror Gale.

"My father and me, of course." Draco says,  eyebrows rising up. "I mean, I'm sure you thought the Dementors would do the job for you. You were right to try to silence us, by the way. My mother had talked to us. She told me everything."

For a long stretch of time the room is completely silent. Then The Head speaks, voice velvety and bored. "You're bluffing."

"How else do you think we know about you? When I told Harry what I knew we agreed to keep an eye on you, hope you would lead us to your accomplishes. But then you had to go and kill people." Draco says, getting to his feet. "That was probably not the smartest move. See, no one cares about a family of Death Eaters getting killed off, but they sure do care about their favourite Aurors in the M2."

The Head looks at him, small crease between his brows, and in the end his eyes drift over to Harry, who just shrugs. Technically Aurors aren't allowed to lie, but then, Draco isn't an Auror.

“I would never have killed you, you know.” Head Auror Gale says then, turning his eyes back on Draco. "You have too much potential."

If Harry didn't have his Occumency barriers firmly in place to keep Auror Gale out of his thoughts, Draco would have known exactly what Harry felt about the hungry look in Auror Gale's eyes.

“You should know by now that Malfoys don't bet on a losing Thestral.” Draco says.

The Head smiles coldly. “Your mother did.”

Harry barely manages to stop Draco from hurtling himself at Auror Gale, dragging him out of the door and into the front room where the others are waiting.

When Susan has closed the door behind them Harry pushes the struggling Draco against the opposite wall, holding him there with an arm across Draco's chest as he tries to snake his way out of Harry's hold to get back in. Harry might be shorter than Draco, but he has no problem holding him pinned, a year of being an Auror giving him muscles and plenty of nifty techniques to contain people without hurting them.

“ _Calm down_.” He tells Draco, trying to get eye contact. Draco doesn't meet his eyes, but he does calm down and Harry slowly lets him go.

“That went better than expected.” Michael says.

“Oh, yes. That went amazingly!” Susan says, but unlike Michael her voice is dripping with sarcasm. “You straight up lied to him.”

“He doesn't know that.” Draco says coldly, brushing off his clothes. "Just watch him fall apart while wondering how much we already know."

"We don't have time for that!" Susan hisses back.

“Everyone take a break.” Harry says, herding them all out into the hallway outside. Out here Witches and Wizards are milling past, all busy doing their job. Harry can't help but think that a bomb with Black Silence could go off anywhere at any time. It could be here in the Ministry. It could be at any Muggle location; Harry simply has no way of telling. He needs a location more than he needs a confession, but he isn't going to get one until Gale is ready to give it.

Once he is sure Michael has his eyes on Draco Harry sits down on a chair next to Susan, putting a calming hand on her shoulder.

“This case means a lot to you, doesn't it?” He says.

“You can tell, hu?” She says and gives him a small smile. She looks ashamed and Harry thinks she's probably never raised her voice at anyone before. “I wasn't even mad at Draco. I shouldn't have talked to him like that. It's just, when this whole thing started, they all assumed the Malfoys had been hunted down by people who had lost loved ones to the Death Eaters.”

“Someone like you.” Harry says, remembering the conversation he had with Lisa. It seems so long ago.

Susan nods. “It didn't hurt that people thought I was a killer, because I know what I'm capable of. When I cast that Blasting Curse at Rowle I knew it was going to kill him. He was too close to the wall behind him, there was no way he could both shield himself against the flames and avoid getting flung into the wall. I heard his skull crack.” She falls silent.

“You saved a lot of people that day.” Harry says. “You saved me.”

“I know. And that old, sweet Muggle couple.” She says with a smile. “You know how they were too old to be safely Obliviated? They still send me Muggle letters sometimes with Muggle pictures of their grandchildren.” She looks over at him. “Does that make it okay?”

“You already know I think so.” Harry says, thinking about Lisa in St. Mungo's who might be too damaged to survive. Before the Battle Harry would never have risked the life of one to save many, he would have found a way to save everyone.

“You know Lisa always told me I wasn't a killer, but I think we all are, if there's enough on the line. But knowing that there are people out there who can kill without remorse and who can pin it on someone like me - that's what gets to me. I just want-”

“You want justice.” Harry says, remembering the word inscribed into the stone next to Narcissa's body.

“I don't think that word is ever going to mean what it used to.” Susan says, with a frown.


	37. October 26

Monday morning Harry and Draco eats breakfast in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and for the first time since he got out of the Horcrux, Draco is wearing a suit. Harry has forgotten how good he looks in those, but to be fair, Draco looks good in just about everything.

Harry had asked Draco if he was sure he was ready to return to his internship at Gringotts, but Draco had just given him a pointed look and gone back to reading his book.

“How was dinner at the Weasley's?” Draco asks suddenly. “Crowded, I'd imagine.”

Harry opens his mouth, ready to tell Draco off, but he manages to stop himself, because he knows how Draco gets when he's nervous.

“It was, actually.” Harry says instead. “Ginny and Percy was home and Hermione is back from Romania, so she stopped by. It was nice.”

Actually, Harry had expected to feel horrendously guilty just looking at Hermione's face and while that certainly held true, it had also been good to see her, to have her wrap her arms around him in a tight hug, the kind only she could give him. She hadn't even been as furious as he had expected she would be, probably because she had already raged at him through his fireplace.

“Harry, what you did-” Hermione had said the day after Harry had left St Mungo's, her head floating above the embers.

“I know it was stupid and irresponsible.” Harry had said, feeling the guilt monster tear at his insides.

“It was,” Hermione had agreed. “But I don't even blame you. I know how you get. I know you were in pain after Draco's attack, but I didn't think you were self-destructive or I never would have left.”

“Hermione-”

“Harry, please let me finish. You have so many good things in your life. I know Draco and you became – close. That he became special to you. But you don't recklessly throw away your own life like that. The least you could have done was to write me and ask for my help. I though we were past this ridiculous notion you have about having a go at everything alone.”

“I'm sorry. I should have told you, but I honestly had it under control.”

“I know, you always do.” She had said.

While Harry watches Draco pick at his toast he thinks about Auror Gale, he thinks about Lisa and Neville in the hospital and he thinks about how _this time_ he's not the one in control at all.

Harry puts a bottle of water on the table in front of Auror Gale. The man has grown stubble and his eyes are bloodshot, but he still manages a smile.

“Harry.” The Head says, “I missed you yesterday, Attica and West can be so dull.”

Auror Attica and Auror West had both tried interrogating Auror Gale yesterday with no luck. Harry isn't surprised. The Head has taught them everything they know.

“You didn't even talk to them.” Harry points out.

“They weren't being very interesting.” The Head says. “Unlike your team.”

“What about my team?” Harry demands.

Auror Gale shrugs. “They're very loyal. But I suppose that goes both ways. It's heart-warming to see how readily you'll run to help them, even the ones who's left the M2.”

“You sent your Aurors after the Patils' shop to distract me.” Harry says, remembering how Briggs and Statham had said The Head himself had signed off on their orders.

“Now that would be a waste of Ministry resources, wouldn't it.” Head Auror Gale says. “You know, it's always been a source of amusement for me, how you always seem to pick up these strays, these damaged people, as if you're hoping someday to stumble across one who's more damaged than yourself.”

“We're not going to talk about me.” Harry says. Harry knows The Head is smart, of course, a brilliant investigator, but Harry is still surprised by how dead on he can be sometimes.

“Then let's talk about your newest stray, Draco Malfoy. Can't say I blame you for that one. Needs a leash, though.”

“Draco isn't part of this investigating any more.”

“Oh, no? What a shame. Let's make him a part, then.”

“No.”

“What I have to say I will only say when Draco is here. After all, I know the truth about what happened to his mother.” Auror Gale looks at Harry with a smile that Harry used to think made him look kind. “It's only fair that he hears it first, don't you think?”

Harry spends the next hour talking _at_ Auror Gale, who just looks at the wall, attitude void of cooperation.

“He's trying to buy time.” Michael says when Harry has closed the door behind himself. They all look in at Auror Gale through the enchanted glass.

“Probably.” Harry says. “But he seems pretty intent on not speaking until Draco gets here.”

“I told you.” Draco says, as he walks up to Harry in the entrance hall of Gringotts. “I'm not going to testify.”

“I know.” Harry says. “I just needed an excuse to take you out of here.”

“Can't it wait?” Draco says with a frown. “I'll be home in less than three hours.”

“Sorry.” Harry says and tries not to think too much about the fact that Draco apparently thinks of Grimmauld Place as home. “He'll only talk to you now.”

“Lovely.” Draco says, sounding anything but delighted. “Just what my life needed. The fixation of a crazy, homicidal lunatic.”

“Speaking as one who's been there,” Harry says and takes Draco's arm. “You get used to it at some point.”

“That's what you said about being in the _Prophet_.” Draco says just before Harry twists and takes them out of Gringotts.

“Draco, so lovely to see you again.” Auror Gale says as Draco takes the seat next to Harry.

“If you're hoping to get into my head and figure out how much I actually know, you can forget it.” Draco says, crossing his legs. “The Dark Lord was more skilled at picking at people's brains than you'll ever be.”

“But you know that of course.” Harry adds. “Seeing as how you're such a big fan of his.”

“Naturally.” Auror Gale says, still looking at Draco.

“Except you're not actually a Voldemort Supporter, are you?” Harry continues. “You could have killed those Muggle kids, but you didn't. You showed them mercy.”

The Head tsks. “I don't want to kill children, Harry. I'm a nice guy.”

“You showed Narcissa Malfoy mercy, too. You killed her before you burned her.”

“Killed her?” The Head says and snorts. Harry can feel Draco tensing next to him “Of course I killed her. She was a Death Eater, a sick splotch on the Wizarding World. She was the first subject to try the finished version of Black Silence.”

Harry straightens slightly. He hadn't expected The Head to be this forthcoming, but then Harry realises the play, even if it's much too late, because Auror Gale looks straight at Draco and says, “She tried not to scream, but once her organs started melting-”

Draco is out of his chair and across the table before either Harry or his team outside can stop him. Harry might have confiscated Draco's wand, but that doesn't mean Draco can't do some serious damage with his fists and feet before the M2 can get to him.

“I'm going to kill you.” Draco yells as Harry puts all his weight into pulling Draco off. “That was my Mother, you mutant-bred swine!”

Harry hauls Draco out the door and through the front room to the hallway outside, turning his head in the door to see Gale coughing up blood on the floor.

“I'll kill you!” Draco yells, drawing attention from the passing Ministry workers.

“He won't. “ Harry assures them all.

“Get your hands off me, Potter!” Draco snarls.

“Please don't arrest him.” Harry says. “He's okay. He'll be okay.” And he takes Draco's arm and Apparantes them both back to Grimmauld Place.

As soon as they land Draco is pulling out of Harry's grip and Harry lets him go, knowing Draco doesn't have his wand and can't Apparate out of the house.

Instead of trying to talk Draco down, which would probably be an exercise in futility, Harry goes into the kitchen with the excuse of making tea. Leaving a fuming Draco behind to decompress in the sitting room, Harry steps into the warm light of the kitchen and lets the Occlumency barriers drop. With a sigh he sits down on the bench and rests his head in his hands.

Since the war Harry had worked hard on his Occlumency, because most of the people they were dealing with had at least a basic knowledge of Legilimency. He's still not very good at it, though. He's not sure what he's doing wrong, but for some reason he seems to be draining himself more than what is really necessary. After an interrogation like this it's not uncommon for him to feel mentally worn, but after having been applying Occlumency when ever he's around Draco, he's ashamed to admit that he's long past worn, moving dangerously close to exhausted.

When Justin's mongoose Patronus shows up ten minutes later to tell him that Auror Gale has been taken to St. Mungo's and won't be able to be interrogated until tomorrow, Harry still hasn't moved. Knowing that Draco is in the sitting room, hurting, is the only thing that makes Harry pull himself together in the end.

Draco is sitting in one of the plush chairs facing the fireplace, but the embers are cold and dead. It's not the first time Harry has noticed that Draco prefers the darkness when he's upset.

“Am I going to have to apologize again?” Draco asks, not looking up when Harry stops next to his chair. His voice is still bitingly cold.

“No, I think what happened today was pretty much all on me.” Harry hands him the mug of tea and this time Draco does look up, maybe feeling Harry's exhaustion.

“I tried to use Occlumency against you in the start.” Draco says and takes the mug with both hands. “Absolutely useless.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Draco shrugs. “It's not all that bad. I like the distraction.”

“How long is the range anyway?” Harry asks and walks over to start the fire.

“Depends what you're feeling and how strongly you're feeling it.” Draco says and takes a sip of his tea. “I can feel your nightmares through the wall between our rooms.”

Harry doesn't know what to say to that, except to give more apologises, but he doesn't feel like apologizing any more. He looks Draco over in the soft light from the fireplace, notes the scrapes and abrasions on his knuckles. He kneels in front of Draco's chair and pulls out his wand, wants to take Draco's hand and examine the wounds with his finger tips, same as he would for any of his team mates, but Draco isn't part of his team and Harry isn't sure Draco would welcome the touch right now.

Instead he says, “It's weird, though. Shouldn't it go both ways?” as he checks for fractures with a diagnostic spell.

“Are you seriously trying to apply logic to it?” Draco says and there's something like broken laughter in his voice, something sick and Harry looks up at his face.

“You're shaking.” Harry says, feeling dumb stating the obvious.

“Yeah, well. I'm tired. It was a pretty rough first day back.”

“Are you sure it's just that?”

“I'm drained, mentally and physically, I'm sure even you must have noticed as much.” Draco says, tone dangerously close to a snarl. “ _Stop feeling pity,_ I'm fine! I'm going to be fine!”

“Draco.”

“It hurts okay? It' hurts so bloody much, you have no idea.” Draco forces out and Harry sees the first tear on his cheek. Without hesitation he puts one hand on Draco's knee to anchor him, not sure there is anything he can do or say to be a comfort. The only thing that pops into his head is, “I''m here, Draco. I'm yours, you still have me.” And he hadn't meant to say any of that out loud, but he does.

Draco lets out a small desperate sound and for the third time Draco is kissing Harry. Draco's hands cup Harry's face before he drops them to the sides of Harry's chest to pull him up, closer. Harry complies and lets himself be guided until he's straddling Draco's lap, bending down over Draco to deepen the kiss.

Harry has a short moment to think, _this is so unhealthy._ Because Draco should be grieving and finding a way to deal with the loss of his parents, but instead he is pushing it aside and letting Harry's emotions fill him instead of his own. And Harry knows more than a little about how much you can ruin yourself by pushing the bad stuff in a pile in front of you, never slowing down to deal with it.

Then Draco breaks the kiss with a whimper and says, “Touch me.” and Harry loses his trail of thoughts, because Draco's hands are sliding under Harry's polo shirt, demanding and desperate.

Draco a year ago - back when he was still Malfoy in Harry's head - would never have cried in front of him, would never have come apart, but here he is – breaking under Harry's palms.

“I need you.” Draco says into Harry's open mouth and Harry swallows the words and drowns the next with a kiss.

It's madness. Harry knows and Draco must know too, but Harry just tightens his thighs around Draco's waist and continues to rut against him.

“I've got you.” Harry whispers as Draco's moans turn louder and more needy, which isn't surprising, since Draco is feeling both his own pleasure as well as everything Harry is feeling; hunger, longing and the deep, aching affection that rushes up in him when he looks down into Draco's face. Draco's cheeks are flushed and his eyes shut and he looks absolutely wrecked as they both tumble over the edge.

“Please.” Draco whispers, and it's so quiet that Harry can barely make out the word. The next ones he hears clearly, though, because they actually resound inside Harry's head. _Please don't leave me_

 

 [Original art can be found here](http://flyingassassin.tumblr.com/post/131963262200/)


	38. October 27

“I'm just not sure I'd be welcome.” Draco says and takes the two plates Harry hands him. “How about now?”

“Nothing. And of course you'd be welcome. Luna adores you.”

“That doesn't mean her father has forgiven me.” Draco argues and sets the table. Harry watches his back and shoulders work.

“For what? Being a Malfoy?”

“She was tortured in our dungeon.”

“Well, not by you. Not by your family.”

“It wasn't like we were particularly nice towards the Lovegoods even before the war.” Draco presses. “Really, nothing?”

“Why are you suddenly so eager for it to work?” Harry asks. “I though it made you uncomfortable.”

“It does” Draco says, placing the jam on the table with a bit more force than Harry thinks is called for. “Which is why I have to figure out how it works.”

“Now who's trying to apply logic?”

“You are finding this far too amusing!”

“What? That I'm the one who's ruled by my emotions, so I push them into you and you are the one ruled by that big logical brain of yours, so you push your thoughts on me? It's funny no matter how you look at it.”

“It's invasion of privacy!” Draco objects.

“You feel everything I feel, but Merlin forbid I could risk hearing a stray thought?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Potter.” Draco says. “You can't compare the two. A feeling doesn't really expose much.”

“I don't know, “Harry says, picking up a slice of toast. “I feel pretty exposed.”

Harry meets up with Susan at The Ministry for Magic.

“Draco thinks he won't be welcome to Luna's Halloween Party.” Harry tells her as she falls into step next to him.

“That's ridiculous.” Susan says as they reach the lifts. “Luna adores Draco.”

“That's what I told him!” Harry says and presses the button to go down.

Franklin Gale, former Head of the Auror Department, is sitting in the interrogation cell, stubble grown to a short beard and hair unwashed. Harry almost pities him.

“I think we can both agree that you've played this out as far as it goes.” Harry says as he closes the door behind him, sending the rest of his team a look through the enchanted glass. Auror Gale just looks up at him with a grim face.

“You killed two of your own Aurors.” Harry says harshly, slamming their pictures on the desk in front of Auror Gale. One has Auror Briggs on it, his arms around a plumb little Muggle woman, who Harry knows was his girlfriend, and one where Auror Statham spins her daughter around on a green lawn in an endless hoop.

“I never wanted to.” Auror Gale finally says and pushes the pictures away.

“You really think you're the good guy?” Harry says.

“I have no illusions. I do what needs to be done. You can understand that, can't you Harry?” He says “I seem to recall quite a few people who died on your account during the War.”

“People die during a war. They died for what they believed in.”

“Then I guess my Aurors did the same.”

“You're insane.”

“You already tried to goad me into spilling all my secrets, Harry. I'm too smart for that.”

“I know.” Harry says. “We all know what you're capable of. I think Susan took it the hardest. She really liked you.” That hits home, Harry notes and runs with it. “She didn't want to believe it, you know. That you were capable of killing people the same way Voldemort killed her entire family.”

“I am nothing like that freak.” Auror Gale spits and then looks past Harry, straight at the one-way glass. “Susan, you have to believe me. I'm not.”

“It really looks like you are.” Harry says and shrugs. He gathers his papers, leaving the pictures, and turns to leave.

“The wizarding world took a hit.” Auror Gale says quickly. “Too many Muggles were hunted down and killed during the war. We can't hide that, we can't Obliviate them all.”

Harry pauses at the door, hand on the door handle.

“They know about us now.” Auror Gale finishes. “And they hate us.”

“You're going to kill more of them.” Harry points out.

“Just enough. Just enough to spread panic and fear.”

“And then when all the Muggles are begging for a hero -”

“In comes the Wizards to cure them. We're the heroes and the Muggle world will adore us. That's brilliant, even you must be able to see that.”

“And when they figure out that we were the ones to spread the poison to begin with?”

“See that's the beauty of Black Silence, Harry. It doesn't leave a trace of magic. It's just undiluted death.”

Harry swallows. “You said you could cure the victims.”

Auror Gale looks at him, face stern, and Harry knows he's gotten all he's going to get this time.

“Should I go in there?” Susan asks when Harry joins them in the front room.

Harry looks in through the one-way glass. “Not yet, let him stew a little.”

“Do we have time for that?” Michael asks.

“Probably not.” Harry admits, feeling cold.

“Why me?” Susan asks and there's a desperation in her eyes that Harry understands all too well. _Why me?_

Harry looks at her. “Come on.” And he leads the way out into the hallway. When they get to Harry's office Harry takes a file from his desk and holds it out.

“Natalie Gale.” Susan reads.

“She was called The Nightingale. During his first reign Voldemort killed her.” Harry explains instead of waiting for Susan to read the report herself. “She was eighteen years old, just out of Hogwarts.”

“She was killed the same night my family was.”

“Yes. She was visiting your grandparent's house with your aunt Amelia. Natalie and Amelia were friends, maybe more than friends, if you believe the rumours. The Auror who wrote up the report certainly did.” Harry doesn't bother trying to hide the bitter tone in his voice. “They were both applying for jobs in the Ministry; Amelia and Natalie were going to do great things together. But then Voldemort took it all away, killed your entire family, killed Natalie. Your aunt Amelia survived that night because she was in the bathroom, changing your diaper and Voldemort, mistaking Natalie for your aunt, thought he had killed all the Bones.”

“Natalie, she was Head Auror Gale's sister?”

“Yes.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“I had a feeling you would.” Harry says. “Susan. We need a location.”

“I know.” Susan says. “I won't let you down.” And she's is walking out of Harry's office.

“You never have.” Harry says quietly, even if there's no one there to hear him.

It takes Susan less then twenty minutes, faster than Harry had even dared dream of, but then again, Susan had always had a way with people.

They meet up in Harry's office and Harry does a full brief, everything they know about the Suicide Cases, who Gale admits to have been using under the banner of avenging Voldemort. Everything they know on Black Silence and the people in possession of it. Everything on the location and the wards and spells guarding it.

“Gather around.” Harry says, pulling up the map. “The closest safe spot is the Finnigan farm, so we'll Apparate out from there at twenty six minutes past midnight. Our priority is to get these people down, without risking the poison known as Black Silence being released. If we get the chance we take a canister so the good people at St. Mungo's can brew an antidote.” Harry looks at their faces. “But we all have to be ready to destroy the poison if it looks like one of these people is going to escape with it. Better that than risking more lives.”

The team nods. They all know what is at stake. They all want to find a cure for Neville and Lisa, more than anything, but if they can't secure a canister, it's better to destroy it than to lose it.

“Go home,” Harry says in the end. “Spent time with your families.”

Harry lets the M2s split off and watches, with a lump in his throat, as they all Apparate home to say their goodbyes, standard procedure.

When Harry gets back to Grimmauld Place he sits down on his bed and checks on the letters he keeps in the top drawer of his night stand, one for Hermione, one for Ron and one for Teddy. He hasn't updated them since he wrote them almost a year ago, right after the Christmas break, right after the Night of Carrows, when he had been so close to dying. Draco had saved his life, but Harry had realised that he wasn't going to be that lucky always.

Before, he had always had Ron and Hermione by his side when his life was in danger. There had always been a moment, a desperate moment, where they had been able to say their goodbyes, even if it was just eyes interlocking through a flurry of spells. After the Night of Carrows Harry had realised that it wasn't always going to be that way and he had written the letters.

“Do you do this before every raid?” Draco asks, leaning against the door frame with two cups of tea.

“Pretty much.” Harry confesses and places the letters against the foot of the bedside lamp.

“Is there one for me?” Draco asks and hands Harry one of the cups.

“Do you want one?”

“Good grief no.” Draco says, perching on Harry's desk. “I want to come with you.”

Harry sighs. “That's not happening.”

“No?”

“Ron and Hermione wanted to come, too.” Harry says. “But this isn't about having the number's advantage. It's about the strategy and the M2s have that down to an art by now. An extra person would compromise that.”

“You know what I've noticed?” Draco says after a moment, putting his cup down on the desk next to his hip. Harry tries to drag his eyes away, but they seem to be fairly content to stay in Draco's groin area. “You worry too much. You worry about your team, you worry about me, you worry about anyone you know accidentally stubbing their toe. No wonder you're exhausted.”

Harry doesn't answer, instead taking a sip of his tea, which turns out to be a mistake, because Draco follows it up with, “Also I know for a fact that you haven't jerked off once since I came to stay here and that's just not healthy.”

Harry coughs out his tea and spills some over his hands while he's at it. Swearing, he puts the mug on the bedside table and pulls out his wand to throw a mild cooling spell on his burned fingers. Across from him Draco laughs softly.

“Well, that was as much fun as I had hoped.” Draco drawls, not even trying to hide how smug he is. Harry meets his eyes and tries to scowl at him.

“If you leave I could take care of it now.” Harry offers, ready to get to his feet, but Draco shakes his head.

“Don't you dare.” Draco says and comes over to stand between Harry's knees. Harry's face is level with Draco's stomach, but instead of tilting his head to look up into Draco's eyes, he leans his forehead against Draco's abs. Draco lets him and in turn pushes his fingers into Harry's mess of hair, flexing them to pull a little on the strains.

“Harry?” Draco says after a while and Harry just hums in response, because Draco's touch feels really bloody amazing. “Harry, look at me.”

Draco's voice sounds raw and Harry finally lifts his head to find Draco looking down at him, eyes dark and needy and his mouth slightly open, and Harry knows he's screwed. Or not yet, to be fair, but he's hoping it's going to happen very soon.

Keeping his eyes on Draco's face he lets his hands slide up the outside of Draco's thighs and enjoys the small sound that leaves Draco's mouth when Harry's fingers slides under the waistband of his trousers to nuzzle the sensitive skin there.

“You're going to destroy me, aren't you?” Draco asks hoarsely, running fingertips down the side of Harry's face and tracing his jaw, before the pad of his thumb runs the length of Harry's lower lip. Draco smiles down at him and Harry realises that his own hands have stopped moving, still resting on Draco's waistband, and he swallows.

“I think it can probably go either way.” Harry admits and has a sudden urge to kiss the grin off Draco's face. Instead he does quick work of Draco's fly and as he takes Draco's cock in his mouth he thinks it's probably just as effective. Above him Draco is letting out soft moans and Harry has to rests both hands on Draco's hips to keep him from thrusting.

“Fuck.” Draco says and Harry isn't sure if the response in his groin is from Draco's broken voice or from Draco's dirty mouth, but he's okay with either.

When Harry feels Draco's fingers tighten in his hair and the twitching jerks of his hips, Harry takes him as deep as he can and swallows around Draco's cock. Draco gasps and lets out a broken moan as he comes, one hand falling to Harry's shoulder for support, and Harry holds on to Draco's hips to steady him..

“Fuck.” Draco says again and Harry is pretty sure now that he just has a thing for Draco swearing. “That was not the plan.”

“There was a plan?” Harry asks, trying his best to sound casual, but it's harder than he thought, because he just sucked Draco Malfoy's cock and he's been wanting to do that for almost a year.

“Yes, and it pretty much consisted of me fucking your brains out.” Draco says.

“Sadly that'll have to wait.” Harry says and chases the taste of Draco with a mouthful of tea.

“I know, I know. You have to go be a hero.”

“I promise I'll come back.”

 _You better._ Draco says inside his head and Harry pulls him down for a kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natalie Gale aka The Nightingale. There's a horribly sad story by Astrid Lindgren, translated to English as My Nightingale Is Singing, about a young girl in the poorhouse, who plants a linden tree, because she's heard that when the wind blows through the linden trees then the nightingale will sing and she wants the poor and old people to have one beautiful thing. Unfortunately the wind doesn't blow in the linden tree. At least not until the young girl dies and gives the tree her spirit.


	39. October 28

Without Lisa and Neville their formation is crippled, but Harry isn't worried about being out numbered. It isn't a war where you duel your opponent. It's a strike, precise and coordinated, where each member has a role and where they use the opponents spells and numbers against them. They've done it plenty of times before.

Harry isn't worried about the four of them not being enough, he is worried that the informations Auror Gale provided are wrong. Apparently Michael is thinking along the same lines.

“Sir, frankly, I don't trust a word that man has told us.”

“Neither do I.” Harry admits. “But I trust you. And I trust Justin and Susan. And you know, if we Apparate in there and things seem off, we get out as fast as we can.”

“We're not the only ones who know how to do an Anti-Disapparition Jinx, though.” Justin says, fiddling with his Med Kit.

“Then we fight.” Susan says. “Magical signature says there are six people, just as The Head said. I counted them myself.”

Michael leans closer to Harry and whispers, “Have you checked that the bastard didn't _Imperious_ her while she was alone with him.”

Harry gives him a hard look.

“What!?” Michael protests. “She's usually not this bossy.”

“She's worried about Lisa.” Harry says.

“Yeah, well. Lisa is safer than we are right now, isn't she?”

Harry can't argue with that. Instead he pushes the barn door open and looks out at the cloudy night sky. They've used the Finnigan Farm as a safe spot for Apparation before and the familiar surroundings helps Harry calm down and push away his own nervousness, but every one of them deals differently with their nerves just before a strike. Neville usually talks about pointless things and Lisa would conjure random items.

“Three minutes.” Susan calls and Harry takes one last breath of the clean autumn air and goes back inside to stand in formation.

“Once we're inside there is one goal.” Harry says. “Contain the poison at all costs.”

“Yes Sir.” Justin and Michael echoes, while Susan nods and says, “Twenty seconds.”

Harry clutches his wand, back turned to the other three, and on Susan's count of three he takes Justin's wrist and twists on the spot. One – Destination, Two - Determination , Three – Deliberation.

The room is dimly lit by a dusty lamp and half a dozen candles, but they all flicker and die out when the M2s appear in a whoosh of movement. The crack of four people Apparating in is loud enough that anyone in the building would have heard, but the four of them have the Anti-Disapparition Jinx up before anyone can even think about Apparating out.

There's a crate of vials on the floor and a metal canister on the counter in front of Micheal, exactly where Auror Gale had said it would be.

“Bugger me-” A rough voice says and Harry turns his head to see an old man frozen to the spot. He looks like he might have been napping on the sofa in the corner of the room, but as Harry calls “Stupify!” the old man casts a _Protego_ and throws himself behind a chair.

“What the-” comes a woman's voice from the door to the hallway, but the M2s are ready and Justin disarms her easily.

The old wizard peaks out from behind his chair and casts a hex at Harry, who deflects it and calls for Susan to check that all the vials in the crate are empty. If the Supporters had managed to fill some of them with Black Silence, just taking the canister would be futile.

Susan barely manages to edge her way there, before one of the Supporters sends a spell at the lamp in the ceiling and the room falls into darkness around them.

“Repello Inimicum!” Michael yells, just as Harry casts a Protego Maxima around them all, hearing Justin and Susan echo the shield charm in it's variations.

At impulse Harry summons a handful of the empty vials from the crate, filling them all with Bluebell Flames and sending them soaring around the room. As soon as the M2s have vision again they abandon their shield charm in favour of casting offensive spells and hexes.

Harry and Justin calls out, “Expelliarmus!”, managing to disarm each their opponents, while Susan hits Michael's _Confringo_ spell with a fracturing spell mid-air, making it split up and blast several targets at once.

Harry renews his _Protego_ just in time for the new shield to take the blunt of a curse and Harry staggers on his feat from the impact. He's too slow to get his shield back up, but Susan is there, her and Justin, back-to-back, fending of the wiry old witch, who's face seems to have taken a slicing curse.

“Diffindo! _”_ the Witch calls, sending off a flash of pink light. The spell grazes Justin's thigh and he falls to his knees with a hiss, wand dropping. Michael is there in an instant, casting a _Protego_ around them both and casting an Accio for Justin's wand. Harry turns his head just in time to see a Wizard send a flurry of daggers against Michael's back. The simple spell shield isn't going to stop the conjured knives, Harry realises, and he has a split second to move. Getting in front of his team mates, he casts a cushioning charm on his own forearm and uses it as a shield.

“Justin!” Susan calls, ducking a curse and yelling “Avis Ferrous,” sending off a flock of iron sparrows that breaches the shield charm of the Witch, ripping at her throat with their claws.

Harry doesn't see the spell that hits Michael, doesn't see him be cast backwards and slam against the wall. All he hears is Justin, somewhere behind him, calling Michael's name in a desperate voice.

Justin pulls himself across the wooden floor, injured leg dragging, to get to Michael, but his attention is pulled by Susan who yells, “Harry, the canister!”

Harry wavers, just for a moment, but it's enough that his opponent sees it and throws herself at the canister. Justin's _Incarcerous_ is a bit off mark due to the bad angle and only lands around the Witch's feet. She reaches for the leg of the table and Harry watches in slowmotion as the canister wobbles and tips over, falling to the floor.

He's not going to make it. Harry could have the best reflexes in the world, but he can't close three metres without Apparating. The canister is going to hit the floor. It's going to break and they are all going to be poisoned and die.

“Accio canister!” Harry calls, even though he knows the canister will break long before the words are even out of his mouth.

Susan is there, though, closer than any of them and Harry sees the bobble charm come up around her, sees the way the silvery surface of the spell encases her as she lands on top of the canister, just as it breaks.

 


	40. October 29

Harry spends the rest of Wednesday in St. Mungo's, Justin and Michael at his side. As afternoon stretches into evening Harry sends them home to sleep and they both go after Harry promises to let them know as soon as there is news. Draco stops by with sandwiches and Ron drops in to congratulate Harry on being on the front page of the _Prophet_ once again.

As Wednesday turns to Thursday Harry still hasn't slept. He knows the Healers by now, knows which pot warms the water just perfectly for his tea, knows the sounds of heart beats making the enchanted falconry bells chime next to each of the three beds in the room.

At some point a Mediwizard stops by to count chimes and Harry realises that he's shaking, his whole body vibrating from exhaustion.

“Can I get you anything?” The Mediwizard asks, looking concerned. “There are blankets in the closet.”

“I'm fine, thank you.” Harry lies and watches the man finish his work.

As soon as the Mediwizard leaves Harry gets to his feet and walks over to Susan's bed. She's surrounded by the same blue sphere as Lisa and Neville, her calm face not betraying how much pain she was in just hours ago. Her screams still ring in Harry's ears and Harry starts to shake again. Turns out this time he's crying.

Harry dozes off around two am and doesn't wake until Draco puts a hand on his shoulder and hands him a cup of Coffee.

“Morning.” Harry says, taking the cup as he tries to shake off the confusion at waking up in a sofa. “Did anything happen?”

“They don't tell me anything.” Draco says, sitting on the sofa next to Harry. He's nursing his own cup and he looks tired, worn even, and Harry realises that yesterday is the first day they've spent apart since Draco returned. It's the first time Draco has had to be alone and be forced to deal with his own emotions instead of Harry's.

“How are you doing?” Harry asks.

“Oh, you know, suppressing pain and planning my bitter revenge.” Draco says and when Harry looks at him with scepticism he adds, “I'm fine.”

“You lost your mother.”

“We all lose people, Potter, one way or another. That's how we grow up.”

That might be true, Harry thinks, but if he can avoid losing people he'll fight nail and claw for them.

“Auror Potter?” A Witch says. She's in the lime green Healer robes. “They're ready to administer the Antidote now. The Healer in charge is waiting for your say-so, Sir.”

The Healer in charge is the same who was here the night they brought in Lisa and Neville. She lifts one catatonic bubble at a time, forcing each of them to drink down a potion while they thrash and whimper. Harry has to stop himself from going to their sides, instead giving the Healer room to work. It helps to have Draco there, pressing against Harry's side in a way that might look casual to an outsider.

“Now it's just a matter of time, Auror Potter.” The Healer says, once Susan has been given the antidote as the last one. “I can't say for sure there'll be no permanent damage, but I've done all I can for now.”

“Thank you. Thank you for all you've done for them.” says Harry.

“You can thank your Aurors when they wake.” She says and Harry knows she's right. If Susan hadn't been able to contain the poison the Potion Masters wouldn't have had material to work with and if it hadn't been for Lisa Harry would have been without a suspect.

It's just another Thursday morning at the Ministry for Magic. Office workers mill in and out of the lifts and Harry ends up getting into a filled one that has to stop at every floor. The other passengers eyes him curiously as he presses the button for Level 9, but Harry barely notices.

“Auror Potter.” greets the first Unspeakable Harry runs into. “If I had a working Time-Turner I would go back in time and bet on this moment happening. No one would believe me and I could be a rich girl.”

Harry can't say he's used to the odd ways Unspeakables talk, but he's not as thrown off by their eccentricities as he was when he started the M2.

“I'm looking for Unspeakable Rodkins.”

“It's his day off, I'm afraid. If he had known you would be stopping by he would probably have postponed it. Then again, if he _had_ known he would probably have tried to bet with the rest of us. And then Roddy would be a rich man. See how it all works out.”

“Now none of you are rich.” Harry notes.

“Just as intended.”

Harry takes a calming breath. “Is anyone else here that studies Souls?”

“Auror Potter.” She says and Harry suddenly realises that she never introduced herself. “I may not be rich, but it's still my lucky day, because it so happens that I am the residence knowledge bank on Souls.”

“Doesn't that make it _my_ lucky day.” Harry asks.

“Lucky days doesn't actually exist, so it's all an abstract anyway. You can have my lucky day if you wish?”

“I might need it, so thanks.”

“What aspect of Souls would you say currently holds your interest?” She asks and Harry tells her everything, right from the start. He tells her about the Horcrux and Draco killing his father and triggering the spell. She seems to agree with Harry that it's most likely that Draco's soul is intact, which is something Harry has been very sure of, but it's nice to have it confirmed either way.

When Harry tells her about Draco feeling Harry's emotions and Harry hearing Draco's thoughts, her eyes widen.

“All the time?” She demands, grabbing Harry's head and pressing her hands to the sides of his face. Harry can't be sure if she's trying to listen in.

“Only when-” Harry isn't sure how to say it, with out compromising himself. “Only when we're close. Open to it, I mean. Do you think it's permanent?”

“I couldn't possibly say.” She says, face falling. “And I'm the residence knowledge bank on Souls.”

“A educated guess, then?”

She just shakes her head. “I'd be happy to run a few tests.” The Unspeakable offers, eyes lighting up again.

“I don't think Draco would agree to that.”

“Sad.” She says. “I would have loved to pick the two of you apart, see how you fit together.”

“No thank you.” Harry says, not sure if she means literally or not. Both is likely with these people.. “But thank you for your time.”

“Time is an abstract too.” She says. “That's why Time-Turners work.”

Harry takes another deep breath.

 


	41. October 30

Neville is the first of the poisoned M2s to wake up. When Harry arrives Michael is already sitting in the chair next to Neville's bed, telling a highly exaggerated version of everything that have happened since Harry and Draco found Neville and Lisa in Malfoy Manor.

“And Susan went, “Then we fight! I'll slay them all myself if I have to!” and I swear for a moment I thought Lisa was possessing her.” Michael says, and Neville laughs, even though it seems to hurt a little.

“And then she went on to save us all.” Harry says, making them both turn their heads.

“Harry!” Neville says, smile weak, but genuine.

“Aw, come on! You skipped all the fighting.” Michael whines.

“There was fighting?” Comes Lisa's croaking voice from the next bed. “You fought with out me?”

“It's not our fault you sleep through the clean up.” Harry says, walking over to squeeze her hand. “How are you feeling Auror Turpin?”

“Like a very large bovine slept on me.”

“Sounds about right.” Neville says, grinning. “I still can't believe it. Was it really The Head?”

“He just seemed like such a good man.” Lisa says, looking dazed as the memories start coming back to her. “Susan always had such hight thoughts of him, like he was her uncle or something.”

“Michael just told me about it.” Neville says. “He wasn't a Voldemort Supporter. He was just-”

“He lost his way.” Harry says. “I'm not saying he's ever going to find his way back, but I think – maybe with Susan's help – that he can get better.”

“Where is she, by the way?” Lisa asks, shifting in her bed. “She should be crying at my deathbed.”

“She's right next to you.” Justin says and Harry turns to see him leaning against the door frame to the room. “Any news on her?”

“The Healer says there could be damage to her lungs and her eyesight might be reduced.” Harry says, squeezing Lisa's hand when she tears up. “There's no way to know just yet, not until she wakes up.”

It takes another four hours before Susan wakes up. At first she's mortified to find them all there, just looking at her and when they all start clapping at her she blushes violently and pulls the covers up to hide under.

It turns out her eyes are damaged, making her see the world in a scale of blues and greens only. Michael loudly laments that she doesn't have to have an eye replaced with a magical one, like Alastor Moody, and Harry tells her that she should feel lucky she at least still have 20/20 vision. They all do their best to cheer her up, but Harry thinks Lisa is probably doing the best job of it, reaching over and taking Susan's hand in her own.

When Harry comes home to Grimmauld Place Draco is in the kitchen, reading a Muggle paper.

Harry takes one look at the paper, opened at the apartment section, and snags it out of Draco's hands.

“You can stay here as long as you want.” Harry says and throws the paper into the low burning fire. Draco frowns as the flames flare up and devourers the paper.

“Have you even read the _Prophet_ in these past days?” Draco asks, holding up a copy of the Prophet. “All the crap they write about the two of us.”

Harry takes the _Prophet_ and without even looking at the front page, throws it into the fire as well.

“Don't care.” Harry says. “Stay. Stay with me.”

“You have no idea how horrible that idea is.”

“I need you here to keep me sane.” Harry says and sits down on the wooden bench, one leg on each side to face Draco. “I'm not saying that you getting stuck in a Horcrux was a good thing, but it made me realise that I was better at Hogwarts with you by my side and even having an evil book with your soul in it was enough to keep me anchored. So something good came of it and I'm not ready to let go just yet. Stay with me.”

Draco swallows, eyes finding Harry's. _You already know I will_. Comes the voice inside Harry's head.

“You've gotten good at that.” Harry says and grins.

“I think the Black side of me feels at home here.” Draco says and draws his wand. “I found this spell in a book the study. You know, naming your son after constellations is originally a Black family tradition?”

“I figured.”

“Watch this. Astra Meus!” Draco says and floating light orbs shoot from the tip of Draco's wand and settle in a line in mid-air, lighting up the kitchen. Harry doesn't know the spell, but it only takes him seconds to realise that the string of floating orbs is a copy of the constellation Draco is named after.

“Impressive.”

“I know.” Draco says, smile so genuinely happy that Harry is having a hard time remembering how he used to hate Draco Malfoy. “How is your team?”

“Surprisingly well.” says Harry. “The Healers wanted to keep Susan overnight, but Neville and Lisa got to go home already. Seems like Luna's Halloween Party is saved.”

“Still think it's a good idea I come to that?”

“I think it's a brilliant idea.” Harry says, reaching out slowly to place a hand on Draco's cheek, thumb brushing a cheekbone. Draco's eyes reflect the constellation of light orbs.

“I think I remember something about a certain someone leaving before I could actualise my wicket plans.”

“We've got time now.” Harry says, feeling a nervous energy rush up in him.

“It probably won't last long anyway.” Draco says with a grin and pulls Harry up from the bench by the collar of his t-shirt. He lets go as they walk out of the kitchen and instead Draco leads the way up the stairs and into Harry's bedroom. It's a pretty short walk, but Harry feels the absence of Draco's hands on him as intensely as he had felt Draco's skin under his fingertips before. It's maddening and when Draco finally pushes Harry backwards into the bed Harry knows for a fact that Draco had been right: Harry isn't going to last long.

Draco crawls in over him, one knee between Harry's legs and the other resting next to Harry's hips as Draco's hands finds the hem of Harry's shirt, pulling it off in one tug.

“Look at you.” Draco says, voice full of reverence. Harry reaches up and tries to work open the buttons of Draco's shirt, but Draco pushes his hands aside and does it ten times faster himself. Harry almost complains, but then Draco is stripping out of his shirt and Harry can't remember what he could possibly have been unhappy with.

He ignores the scars and the delicate patterns left by dark magic, instead staring at the smooth, pale skin under it all. Draco doesn't seem surprised by Harry's lack of surprise.

“Are you going to put your hands on me or not.” Draco just says and Harry does. He runs both hands down the expanse of Draco's chest, from his collar bones to the trail of hair that continues down past the waistband of his pants. Draco responds with a moan and then he leans down and kisses Harry deeply.

Harry is so focused on the feel of Darco's smooth skin under his hands and the taste of Draco's mouth, the feel of their tongues sliding against each other, that he barely notices Draco unbuttoning his trousers. Not until Draco pulls them down Harry's thighs and exposes his hard cock to the cold air does Harry break the kiss to gasp.

“Hold on.” Draco says and pulls Harry's wand from the holster attached to the side of Harry's trousers, before pulling them and Harry's pants all the way off and throwing them on the floor. Draco casts a lubrication spell on his fingers and for some reason Harry is not the least bit surprised that Draco can use his wand.

“Move up a bit.” Draco says and Harry scoots back in the bed so Draco can kneels between his spread legs. Harry suddenly feels very naked, which he is, but it suddenly occurs to him that he has absolutely nothing to hide behind. No wand, no clothes – even his emotions are open for Draco.

“Relax.” Draco says and his voice is suddenly very soft. “I haven't done this before and I'm guessing you haven't either. So let's not screw this up, okay?”

“I'll just follow your lead.” Harry says and then remembers that Draco had said those words to him long ago, sitting in the Hogwarts library. Draco had looked like he wanted nothing better than to curse Harry that day and now Draco is going to fuck him instead.

Draco takes his time working Harry's ass lose with one hand, while he starts up a slow slide on Harry's cock with the other. At first the two sensations are distracting, one making Harry's stomach muscles clench in pleasure, the other making Harry clench around Draco's finger in discomfort.

“Relax.” Draco says again and Harry tries. After a while Harry can finally open his eyes to meet Draco's, warm and dark and full of lust, and Harry forgets the burn. Instead he just lets Draco's fingers fuck him open and Draco's hand stroke his cock, and he knows he's moaning, knows he probably sounds absurd and needy, but he doesn't care. He tumbles over the edge with Draco's fingers inside him and hears Draco gasp loudly as Harry's orgasm fills him through their connection.

When Harry opens his eyes Draco is looking at him with a soft, affectionate smile. “That was different.” He says.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be. It was definitely a good different.” Draco says and leans down to kiss Harry. “Do you still want me to fuck you? I promise it'll be quick.”

Harry looks down between them, at Draco's hand, covered in Harry's come, now wrapped around his own cock as he strokes it. The head is red and glistening with a mix of come and lube.

“Yes.” Harry breathes. “Please fuck me. Definitely fuck me.”

Draco might have loosened him up, but when Draco pushes his cock inside Harry it still burns. Harry has to swallow back a whine and Draco stops instantly, hands moving instead to stroke up the side of Harry's chest.

“You're okay?”

“I will be. Keep going.” Harry says and lifts his hips to meet Draco as he presses the rest of the way in. It's not until Draco starts up a faster slide, cock hitting the walls inside Harry, that it stops being uncomfortable. Draco keeps his eyes on Harry, cheeks flushed and mouth open, as he pants out greedy little moans.

“Shit. “Draco says. “Shit, you feel amazing. You feel so fucking amazing, so tight around me.”

“Come inside me.” Harry says, voice close to begging, and Draco does. He lets out a strangled sound and presses his forehead to Harry's shoulder as he shudders and comes inside Harry. They stay like that for a moment, Draco panting into Harry's skin and Harry combing fingers through Draco's short, blond hair.

 _I'm not getting tired of that any time soon_. Harry hears the words clearly

“I hope not.” Harry says, holding on tightly.

 

 


	42. Halloween

Harry lets Malfoy have the bathroom first, because he knows Draco is going to take longer at getting ready after his shower than Harry is.

In the meantime Harry pulls on a worn t-shirt and his eyes falls on Draco's wand, laying casually discarded on Harry's nightstand. Not exactly sure why, except maybe curiosity, Harry takes a calming breath and stretches out his hand, casting a wandless accio. Draco's wand flies up to meet his hand mid-air and Harry catches the handle of it easily,

It feels friendly in his hand, a playful tingle spreading across his palm and it reminds him of the way his own wand feels in his hand. Draco had been right: it obviously still recognises Harry as it's master, but it must recognize Draco as well or he wouldn't be able to use it.

“You're not supposed to touch it.” Draco says when he comes out of the shower, but his voice is more resigned than annoyed.

“It still likes me.” Harry says and makes the horrible mistake of looking up at Draco, because Draco is mostly naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist, his hair is messy and drops of water dots his pale skin. Harry has to swallow.

“Yeah, congratulations.” Draco says, making a face. He shifts his Marked arm behind him, even though Harry has seen it plenty of times by now. “It's like having a puppy that only bounces around when the neighbour comes to visit.”

As if Draco wet and mostly naked after a shower wasn't bad enough, the image of Draco with a bouncing puppy is so detrimentally distracting that Harry almost forgets he was supposed to shower, too.

When Harry comes out of the bathroom twelve minutes later Draco has dressed and Harry is suddenly taken in by how dashing Draco looks in a cerulean shirt and a tight-fitting dark grey waistcoat. He's not even wearing a tie, but he still looks dressed up.

“That's really impolite, you know.” Draco says, sticking his hands into his pockets and Harry realizes he's been staring again.

“Sorry, I'm just- You look good.”

“Of course I do.” Draco says impatiently. He is fidgeting with his cuffs. “Maybe I shouldn't go.”

“Is this really about Luna?” Harry asks, taking Draco's wrist to do the buttons on his cuffs for him.

“What else would it be about?”

Harry takes his time to pick his words. “When I lost Sirius I thought I wasn't supposed to laugh. When ever I smiled I felt guilty. You lost your mother two months ago, you spent one of those months trapped in a Horcrux unable to mourn. It's okay to be sad, Draco.” Harry says moving on to the other wrist and taking it as a good sign that Draco lets him. “But it's also okay to be happy.”

Draco looks at Harry's hands working his cuffs while Harry speaks and it takes a while after Harry is done before he lifts his eyes to meet Harry's.

“You're dripping on the floor.” Draco says then and Harry gives him a small smile.

Luna greets them in the door and right then Harry is really glad that he managed to convince Draco to come, because Luna lights up like an early Christmas tree.

“Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter!” She says, beaming. “You're so timely!”

“We try.” Draco says dryly, handing her the bottle of Oak-matured Spicy Irish Whiskey.

“Thank you, Draco.” Luna says, taking the bottle. “You look dashing. It always amazes me how you manage to look so masculine with such delicate features.”

“I do not have delicate features!” Draco grumbles as Harry bends down to kiss Luna's cheek.

“You look very pretty.” Harry says.

“Thank you, Harry. Ginny was here early and she helped me do my hair. I think it's very appropriate.” Luna's long, blond hair has been teased and worked into a festive mess, decorated with a string of what looks like tiny live candles and moving bats. Harry doesn't know much about hair fashion, but he has to marvel at the charm work.

“You know, Susan told me everything.” Luna says, addressing Harry as Draco slips away to find drinks. “I think what you did was very romantic.”

“Er- thanks.” Harry says, unsure how to respond.

“You bound your souls together.” Luna says. “Isn't that the original idea of Marriage?”

“I don't think-” Harry starts, feeling awkward.

“Harry.” Ron calls and Harry is glad for the excuse to slip away, greeting Ron with a wave and Hermione with a warm hug.

“How are things between you two?” Harry asks when Padma and Lisa calls Hermione over to decide in a dispute on Department of Mystery lore.

“It's hard to say, really.” Ron says, sipping his foamy pumpkin lager. “I always wanted what my mum and dad have, you know? I think I've begone to accept that someone like Hermione is meant for something a little bigger than playing house with me. Still love her, though. I must be mad, but I do. I don't think I'll ever stop.”

“People change.” Harry says, echoing the conversation he had with Ginny more than a year ago. Harry had agreed with her then, not realizing until just this moment that they had both been talking about Draco Malfoy.

“Can they change back?” Ron asks, sending Hermione a longing glance.

“They're not supposed to, mate.” Harry says. “We just have to take the cuts and bruises and grow tougher skin. Maybe we never fully heal. Maybe that's okay.”

As far as Harry can tell the entire DA has been invited and the ones not already here drops in within a few minutes of Harry and Draco's arrival. At the start of the evening it's clear that not all the DA's have reached the level of forgiveness towards Draco that Harry and his closest circle of friends have, but Harry hadn't been expecting it. Harry has had a year of sharing just about every aspect of his own life with Draco and then spent a month sharing his emotions and soul through an enchanted book and he is pretty sure that if that was not the case, he wouldn't have forgiven Draco either. 

Draco, fortunately, knows where to linger and where to exchange brief formal greetings, and Harry is once again reminded that Draco has grown up in a rather lavish, ceremonious setting, where people cared very little about each other. Less than heartfelt niceties must come as naturally to Draco as magic does and he takes a cold handshake and a curt nod with a straight back and an unwavering politeness. It doesn't take long, however, for people to warm up to Draco. Harry has to wonder if Draco is even aware of it himself, the way he charms people who doesn't want to be charmed by him, the way their faces slowly relaxes as he speaks.

“I'm a Malfoy.” Draco says when Harry asks him about it later. “I'm never going to be well-liked.”

“That's it?” Harry asks. “You don't care that some people still hate you?”

“Not in the slightest.” Draco says, but Harry isn't sure it's the absolute truth, but maybe it's just the Slytherin form of defence. If he let himself care about the people who hated him and looked down on him for being a Malfoy, Draco could spend the rest of his life apologizing. Draco could help bring down a hundred Dark Witches or Wizards and there would still be people whispering about how odd it is that he seems to know just where to look for these people. He could break a thousand Dark Curses and continue to add merit to his own name for Gringotts and people would still whisper about how he must have used his extensive knowledge of Dark Magic to ensnare Harry Potter with an ancient, unknown Love Spell.

“Besides,” Draco continues. “People who doesn't like me aren't worth my energy.”

“I seem to remember that you spend quite a bit of energy on me while we were at school.” Harry says, smirking up at Draco.

“Really?” Draco says, leaning in closer. _Then I guess you must be special somehow,_ he says inside Harry's head and Harry lets Draco know exactly how he feels about that.

The last day of October slips into the first day of November with nothing but a pick-up in the storm outside and people all around the country raising their cups in memory of the ones who lost their lives.

 

Though my soul may set in darkness,  
it will rise in perfect light.  
I have loved the stars too fondly  
to be fearful of the night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all.
> 
> All my thanks and gratitude goes out to the people who took a chance on a WiP and stayed with this story from day one and also huge thanks to all of you who decided to read this after it was finished, deciding these 42 chapters were worth your time.
> 
>  
> 
> [ **Much love, Lulu.** ](http://flyingassassin.tumblr.com/tagged/The-Heart-of-Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are gold.  
> If you're on Tumblr I would appreciate any kind of attention on my chapter posts, which you can find [**Here**](http://flyingassassin.tumblr.com/tagged/The-Heart-of-Me) along with the original Art for this story.


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